


He's Your What??

by CleverWeaver



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All the banter, Also fluff, Arranged Marriage, Dorian is the best BFF, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dueling fiances, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Mild Angst, Not so mild post-angst smuttiness, Occasional smut flareups, Post-Ending, Romance, Snotty pompous nobles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverWeaver/pseuds/CleverWeaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan's parents are visiting Skyhold for the first time following the Inquisition's defeat of Corypheus, and they're bringing a surprise. </p>
<p>----</p>
<p>A response to the kink meme prompt: "It's Trevelyan who is in an arranged marriage and it's their LI who ends up fighting a duel against a cocky noble for their hand." Also the first thing I've written in ages, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to play in the Bioware sandbox for a while. <3 More or less canon, with some 'Waffling' here and there. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"It's still your move."

"I'm aware of that. I'm _thinking_."

A lazy grin spread across Cullen's face as he reclined in his chair, resting one leg across the other knee. "You've been thinking for ten minutes now." He wasn't in a particular hurry to finish the game. It was a lovely day - crisp, but sunny - and his Inquisitor made the most adorable faces when she was losing. His grin grew in proportion to the crinkle between her eyebrows.

"There's a glare on the board," Evelyn announced after a moment, huffing a sigh and fixing him with her best 'I'm a noble's daughter' gaze. It was a testament to her upbringing and her diplomatic skills that she was able to deliver such a statement with not only a straight face, but a slightly haughty look. The kind of look that had had any number of the Inquisition's opponents quailing before her.

Cullen laughed; first at her demeanor and then at the slightly petulant pout that followed it. "Is there really? I am sorry, my lady Inquisitor. Although it does bear mentioning that you were the one who suggested playing on your balcony." He paused a moment, bravado faltering as he added, "Um. _Our_ balcony."

It was Evie's turn to chuckle, real and mock frustration forgotten. "It's nice up here. It's nice to have the time to relax and use it for a change," she said, stretching back in her chair, arms high above her head, as she gazed out over the mountains. "The view is exquisite."

Her attention was quickly drawn back by a honeyed purr from across the table. "Mmm. The view is much better from over here."

Evelyn quirked one eyebrow and contemplated the commander's twinkling eyes for a moment before getting leisurely to her feet. "Is it?" she asked sweetly, swinging her hips to maximum effect as she rounded the small marble table holding their chess board. "Does it also bear mentioning, Commander," she mused as she came to a stop in front of him, "that, in addition to the view, the balcony - our balcony - is also much more private than the courtyard?"

Cullen's grinned turned wolfish and he snatched Evelyn into his lap, earning a squeal and a giggle for his efforts. "It is, isn't it?" he murmured into the crook of her neck. "At least, until someone comes along to disturb us."

Evie gave a brief snort, trailing off in a moan as Cullen's mouth worked its way up to her earlobe. "They'd better not. We only fi-oh that's nice-finished with Corypheus a few months ago. The world can't be ending again so soon. We've more than earned our pri... mmmm, you've gotten exceptionally good at that, you know." Her head drooped to the side as she yielded more of her neck to his attentions.

"I'm glad you think so," he murmured back, adjusting his grip on her sides upward with one hand and downward with the other.

Evie's voice was breathy as she continued, "There are some _other_ things I think we should probably practice more, however."

Cullen's hands stilled and he pulled back, frowning slightly. "... what was that?"

The Inquisitor rolled her eyes and gave him a pointed look, struggling to control a grin. "Cullen. Think."

"OH! Right. Sorry." He cleared his throat, slipping back into character, "I can't let a challenge to my skills pass unanswered! Perhaps a demonstration is in order?" he growled playfully, getting to his feet and hoisting Evelyn easily into his arms.

Evelyn giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling her cheek into the furry shoulders of his mantle. "I suppose that might change my mind," she purred, nipping as his lower lip playfully as he edged them back into the room and toward their lush, four-poster bed.

Evie's tunic, being an average sort of garment, had never expected to find itself in the midst of events as world-shaking as those its wearer got up to. More often than not, it was left behind when she went out to do great deeds but it still had to be said the shirt served its purpose admirably, keeping the Inquisitor clothed when necessary and, in times like the present, yielding in an amiable sort of way to the commander's callused-but-nimble fingers. Thus it came to pass that, when a dulcet Antivan voice echoed up the stairwell that led to the Inquisitor's chamber, the tunic felt somewhat let down at the anticlimax.

But not as let down as the one doing the unbuttoning.

"SHE'S OCCUPIED," Cullen called back, making no effort to hide his frustration. (The tunic approved.)

Josephine's voice floated up to them again, her embarrassment seeming to match the commander's frustration. "Oh. Oh, I see."

Evelyn sighed and gave Cullen a light swat, then started rebuttoning her tunic. "It could be important," she offered quietly, before calling, "It's all right, Josie. Please come up." Cullen grumbled and rolled onto his side in response to Evie's continued buttoning efforts, letting them both sit up. She grinned at his protruding bottom lip and reached out to catch it lightly between her thumb and forefinger. "Your face will stick like that, Commander," she teased, chuckling when he batted her hand away and smiled resignedly.

"I knew we'd be interrupted," he muttered through a rueful grin. "It never fails. Serves me right for wooing the most important woman in Thedas."

Evelyn smirked, smoothly pinching Cullen's rear as she got to her feet. "Never fear, love. There'll be plenty of time for woo later." Commander and Inquisitor were still grinning at one another when Josephine crested the top of the stairs moments later.

"Ahem. I am sorry to interrupt," the Ambassador began, only to be cut off with a friendly wave.

"It's no problem, Josie," Evelyn replied easily. She tilted her head slightly at the Antivan's nervous smile. "Is something the matter?"

Josephine strode forward, balancing her writing board in one hand and a rolled parchment in the other. "This just arrived, via messenger," she said, tone formal but excited. "I thought you would want to see it right away." The parchment quivered slightly in her hand as she presented it. Evie and, now standing beside her, Cullen, looked at the mystery parchment with interest, but it was the Inquisitor herself who prompted, "Oh that's ... quite thoughtful of you, Ambassador. Um ... why?"

She was already reaching to take the document when Josephine burst out, "It's from Ostwick. With the Trevelyan seal on it!"

Evelyn's hand dropped back to her side and she frowned. "So ... it's from-"

"Your parents!" Josephine continued, succumbing to her excitement at last. In her role as ambassador, Josephine had been trying to arrange a meeting between the Inquisitor and her family for some time. Having her machinations seemingly come to fruition at last was, understandably, thrilling, Evie supposed.

In an attempt not to rain on her friend's happiness, she picked up her smile again as she picked up the parchment. "Well. That is exciting, isn't it? I haven't heard from them since before the whole..." She waved her free hand vaguely while still trying to pick the wax seal off with her thumb. "Herald. World saving. Business."

"If you could let me know as soon as possible when they'll be arriving," Josie hurried on, "it would be very helpful, in terms of the planning."

"Planning?" Evie echoed vaguely, unrolling the parchment gingerly.

"Oh yes! We'll have to arrange a welcoming banquet. And perhaps a second, during the stay. And perhaps a farewell, as well. Maybe three is too many? But we wouldn't want to offend anyone. No, we are the Inquisition; we should do things properly. Although not too Orlesian; that in itself could offend some."

Cullen and Evelyn exchanged a look as Josephine started to get lost in her internal (if audible) dialog and note making.

"I wonder if we could get away with serving _boudin noir_ , nevertheless. It's not exclusively Orlesian... I think the Fereldans have something similar."

"Uh, Josie?"

"Although that would depend entirely on if we could get it shipped here."

"Josephine?"

"Leliana must know someone. I shall ask her."

"JOSIE!" Evelyn blushed a little as the ambassador jumped. "I will let you know as soon as I can, when ... if they will be arriving. I just need to ..." She trailed off, gesturing to the parchment in her hand.

"Oh of course, Inquisitor!" Josephine looked sheepish. "I apologize. I should get started on the preparations, regardless." She spared a glance at Cullen before looking back at Evie with a coy smile. "At your earliest convenience will be most satisfactory. I shall speak to you later. Commander Cullen." She offered the pair a nod before, with her attention firmly back on her writing tablet, she disappeared back down the stairs, murmurings of meringue and cream puffs trailing down the stairs after her.

As soon as the ambassador was out of sight, Evie huffed a tremendous sigh and flopped backward onto the bed, the parchment flopping freely from her outstretched arms.

Cullen hovered over her with one eyebrow arched. "Something amiss?"

Evie covered her eyes with one forearm. "My parents and I had established a nice routine of them being on one landmass and me on another. Why do we have to ruin a good thing?"

Cullen chuckled, reaching to retrieve the paper and sitting down beside her prone form. "Surely it can't be that bad. You must want to see them at least a little? After everything you've been through?"

"I suppoooose," Evelyn sighed, peeking out from behind her arm. "You read it to me?" At his skeptical smirk, she added, "In your _incredibly sexy_ voice, any news would be more palatable."

Cullen snorted and rolled his eyes, the smirk remaining in place. "Well, as you've asked so nicely." He held up the parchment before him, clearing his throat, and began in an official tone,

" _Dearest Evelyn. How are you, darling? We've been so worried through this whole, terrible episode, but we could not be prouder of your accomplishments._ " Cullen arched an eyebrow and glanced down at her. "You're right. I can see why you'd be reluctant to hear from such beasts."

"You've been spending too much time with Varric."

"Uh huh. _Stories of your activities seem to have reached every corner of Thedas; Ostwick being no exception. Everyone in town is abuzz with questions for us and praise for you. I fear your father's face may be permanently creased from smiling. Needless to say, we're all very eager to see you. I understand from your ambassador - imagine! Our little Evelyn with her own ambassador! - that you aren't able to travel to the Free Marches at the moment, so we've decided at last we'll come to see you._ Oh, Josephine will be pleased."

"At least someone will be."

"Evie, they sound very nice," Cullen chided, looking back at the letter. " _By the time you receive this missive, we'll already be underway - your father, myself, and Carrick. We should arrive -_ " He stopped reading abruptly at the strangled noise Evie made as she pushed herself up to rest on her elbows. "What?"

"W... who is coming?"

Cullen frowned, looking back at the letter. "Your father, mother - I'm assuming she's the writer - and Carrick." He looked back at Evelyn to find her increasingly pale. "Carrick. Is that your brother?"

"Carrick Penavon," Evie offered quietly. "They're bringing Carrick flaming Penavon..."

"You're starting to worry me, Evie," Cullen said, trying to keep his voice light. "Who's Carrick Penavon?"

Evelyn fixed him with a woeful gaze. "Carrick Penavon. Is my fiancé."


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, Evie darling, that is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into."

Evie groaned and sunk her head down to the table to rest on her folded arms. "I know." Dorian leaned forward in his seat slightly to put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. Fortunately, though the tavern was crowded with the usual evening horde, their table was tucked away in the corner of the second floor. If the din rising from the floor below was any indication, some sort of contest - with Iron Bull at the center - was firmly holding everyone's attention anyway.

"It is a fairly significant thing to have slipped your mind, to be fair."

Evelyn shifted her head so she was looking up at the mage from atop her folded arms. "It didn't slip my mind. Well ... all right, I suppose it did slip my mind, a bit, but can you blame me? We were betrothed when I was seven. I've only **met** the man a handful of times. It's not like I was keeping some torrid affair secret. You know as well as anyone how these things work."

"Well, yes, I do," Dorian answered with a casual shrug. "But the same can't be said of our lantern-jawed Commander, can it? He doesn't come from the same background of genealogical intrigue and parental collusion as we do." Dorian chuckled sympathetically as Evie groaned and turned her face back down to the table. "What does this beau of yours look like, anyway? Perhaps I can take him off your hands when he gets here."

Evie snorted, the noise muffled by the table. "I haven't seen him in an age. I was only 15 the last time our families were together." Dorian mused that this didn't seem like all that long to him, given the Inquisitor's youth, but didn't interrupt. "He was gangly. All elbows and knees. And ears. Maker, the ears!" She pushed herself up off the table, hands rubbing her eyes. "Viewed head on, he looked like a druffalo. Mother said he'd grow into them," she said miserably.

Dorian pushed a glass of ale toward her, smirking. "Well, you know what they say about men with large ears." Evie shot him a look as he continued, "Good listeners."

"I'm so glad my problems are entertaining for you," Evie grumbled before sipping her drink.

"In my defense, considering the problems you **have** successfully dealt with, the mighty Herald of Andraste being laid low by having too many suitors is rather amusing." He held up his hand to deflect another of her glares. "That said, of course I'm sympathetic. You know I am. I'm sure the Commander will come around when he realizes there's no threat to him in it."

"I just wish he would have realized it while I was explaining exactly that to him," Evie said, taking another swig from her mug. "Men are difficult. I've no idea what you see in them."

"Ah, dearest, I make a point of avoiding the difficult parts," Dorian chuckled, frowning ever so slightly as he looked across the room to the staircase. "Speaking of which..."

Evie followed his gaze, easily spotting what had distracted her friend. Cassandra, looking as comfortable as she ever did in the boisterous tavern (which was to say, not very) was just reaching the top of the stairs, looking around, and quickly setting her acute focus on their corner. Evelyn sighed and took another quick swallow of her ale. "No rest for the wicked," she muttered as the Seeker approached their table.

Dorian, being the good friend he was, leaned back in his chair and pushed the chair opposite him out with his foot. "Seeker! Delightful of you to join us. We were just drowning our sorrows. Can we interest you in some drowning?" he said, blending welcoming amiability with a thinly-veiled attempt to get under the Seeker's skin.

"That depends whom we are drowning," Cassandra returned tersely before setting her sights on Evelyn. "Inquisitor. Josephine asked me to retrieve you. There are, apparently, some issues she wishes to discuss with you before the arrival of your family and their entourage tomorrow."

Evie's eyebrows jumped up. "Tomorrow? That soon?"

The Seeker nodded, "Or the day after. An advance messenger rode in about an hour ago. He was quite surprised when he heard we'd only received word of their impending arrival earlier today. It seems the initial messenger was delayed somewhere along the line and neglected to say so when he got here." She crinkled her nose in distaste. "We should be sure to inform your family's people of this. I doubt they would be pleased to know they had someone so unreliable in their employ."

"Ah yes, nothing says joyous family reunion like flogging the help!" Dorian put in congenially.

Cassandra spared him an annoyed glance before continuing, "In any event, Josephine is beside herself. Judging by what I saw, it seems she'd counted on having several weeks to prepare."

Evie nodded, getting to her feet with a sigh and a wistful look at her half-empty tankard. "That sounds about right, given what I heard before."

The Seeker nodded. "Needless to say, she's eager for your assistance in working out what protocols might be overlooked without causing an incident. She's waiting for you in her office."

Nodding again, Evelyn eased herself out from behind the table. "Of course. I'll go down there right now, before she works herself into a panic." She offered Dorian a smile, "Thank you."

He returned her smile with an easy grin, getting to his feet as well as Evie started to head for the stairs. "Not at all, darling. We'll chat later. Would you care to join me, Seeker? There's more ale where this came from," he said, gesturing to the half-empty mug. Her parting disdainful glance was met with another chuckle from the mage before he scooped up the mug - it wasn't _his_ fault it was Fereldan beer - and made his way to the stairs as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We delve into a bit of my personal head canon here - namely that Hawke picked up Fenris on her way to Weisshaupt (because, really, how do we get from 'Nothing is going to keep me from you' to 'Yeah I just left him ... y'know, somewhere'? >_>), and that they returned.
> 
> Also, in my mind, during the infamous '3 year split', Hawke and Cullen were briefly an item, splitting amicably when the political strain of 'Champion of Kirkwall & Highest-Ranking Sane Templar' got to be too much for them. There was a brief point in the DA Keep beta where, in the companions section of DA2, you could specify if Hawke and Cullen got along or not, and I'm personally convinced in the scene where you're named Inquisitor, Cullen's 'surprised look to the side' is him spotting some Hawkeage. Sadface their interaction didn't make it in the final cut. But I digress.
> 
> Oh, and I'm keeping Waffles for my sarcastic!Hawke, because Chuckles is taken now. Okay? Okay. Onward!

The sight in the middle of the room downstairs was immediately engrossing, distracting Dorian readily from the fact that he hadn't really succeeded in cheering up his best friend. As it had seemed from the noise, The Iron Bull was at the center of the proceedings, surrounded on his side of the table by some of his Chargers. The opposite side was occupied by Varric, Hawke, and the strange, lyrium-marked elf who'd returned with her from Weisshaupt. The Champion herself was sharing a chair with the elf, wedged between his legs, with one of her own legs draped lazily over Varric's lap. With the elf's possessive arms wrapped around her - ostensibly holding the cards they were both looking at - and one of Varric's hands resting on her shin, it seemed as though she was being protected (if not claimed) by both men. Dorian, being familiar with such displays of ownership from back home, couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't the other way around; even relaxed and at ease, the Champion had the air of a dragon resting on its hoard.  
  
Varric chipped another coin into the center of the table and nodded. "I've got you this time, Tiny. You're bluffing."  
  
"Ha. Keep thinking that, dwarf. The faster I take your money, the better for me." Bull lazily added a small handful of coins to the pile.  
  
Hawke pointed to the cards her elf was holding, shrugging gently as she did so. " _Venhedis!_ " the elf burst out, tossing the cards onto the table. Whatever money they'd lost, the Champion didn't seem to mind, as she leaned back slightly to kiss the elf's scowling cheek. Dorian let his gaze linger on the pair for a moment as he looked on from the sidelines. A part of him wished he might have met the strange man when they were both in the Imperium. He wasn't particularly proud of that part.  
  
The elf, seeming to feel his gaze, looked up and his scowl deepened. An urgent whisper in Hawke's ear had her looking at Dorian as well, before she murmured something back and then slumped forward inelegantly onto Varric while the elf extricated himself from their shared chair and, with a final glare at the approaching mage, stalked off.  
  
Hackles rising slightly, Dorian made his way up to stand behind Bull, who was now chortling as he raked the pile of money in the center of the table toward himself. "I hope it wasn't something I ... was?" he asked, doing his best to sound prickly.  
  
Varric snorted and Hawke offered a crooked grin. "He's actually gotten a lot better, you know," she said.  
  
Varric nodded, "Sure, Sparkler. As long as everyone ends the night with their hearts inside their chests, we count it as a win around here."  
  
Hawke nudged Varric with her foot playfully. "Hey. He really _has_ gotten better. Just, asking him to play cards with a magister is probably still a bridge too far."  
  
"I suppose it makes no difference that I'm **not** a magister?" Dorian asked, sliding into the chair next to Bull as Krem vacated it. "I don't even have a bunch of slaves hidden under my robes."  
  
"We might have to check to confirm that last one," Hawke returned, with a campy waggle of her eyebrows.  
  
"All right, Waffles, it's your turn to deal," Varric chuckled.  
  
"I think I've lost enough money for one night. And anyway, I have a better idea," Hawke announced, springing to her feet. "More liquor. And stories. And then more liquor."  
  
Dorian grinned. "Hear, hear!"  
  
"And Bull's paying!" Varric chimed in.  
  
"Ha. Hear, hear!" Hawke echoed, drowning out the Qunari's sputtered protests. "I'll be right back. Then it's _your_ turn to deal, Varric," she said with a wink, before sauntering off to the bar.

 

***

 

Some hours later, the tavern was emptier but no less noisy as the group had dwindled to Dorian, Bull, Varric, Hawke, and a significant number of empty tankards. Hawke was on her way to emptying another by gesturing broadly with it as she spoke. "And so he's hanging there, dangling from his sash looped around the gargoyle, and I'm looking up at him and he's looking down at me and, after a minute, he says'," she paused to puff herself up, "'That was **not** a nug!'"  
  
Bull gave a mighty bellowing laugh while Dorian asked with a grin, "And what did you do?"  
  
Hawke replied with a saucy wink. "Why, I looked up his skirt, of course."  
  
It was Bull's roars of laughter that both greeted Cullen when he opened the door of the tavern and gave him pause before coming inside. He'd hoped, foolishly perhaps, that the bar would have cleared somewhat at this hour. Maker knew he could use a drink. Being confronted by a wall of intoxicated Inquisition members wasn't entirely what he'd been hoping for ... but ...  
  
The Commander was quite pleased with himself when he managed to get up to the bar without drawing the attention of the raucous group. He'd almost allowed himself to breathe again, headed for the stairs with his mug of Ferelden's finest, when he heard it.  
  
"Is that Curly!? I must have had too much to drink," Varric called. "I'm seeing things!"  
  
"Come and join us, Commander!" Bull turned in his chair, jostling Dorian (who'd been leaning against him) as he did so. "Plenty of room. Plenty of ale. Plenty of tales of debauchery we haven't heard yet!"  
  
"I'd really rather not," Cullen returned, rather more stiffly than he'd hoped. "I have a lot of work to do. I was just going to take this back to my office..." He gestured vaguely to the stairs.  
  
Hawke's tinkling laugh rang out through the din. "That's all right. I know _oodles_ of stories about the Knight-Captain."  
  
Had someone been able to hear it over the hoots of laughter in the room, they might have described the sound Cullen made as he closed his eyes as 'intensely pained'. He considered for the briefest moment how much damage Hawke - a drunken Hawke, no less - could do with her stories before turning sharply on his heel and making his way to the table. "I'm not a Knight-Captain anymore," he said gruffly, taking a seat at the end. As near the door as he could.  
  
"Aww, you'll always be my captain," Hawke chuckled, giving Cullen a wink.  
  
"Careful, Champion," Dorian cautioned as he leaned back against The Bull, "you'll bring the Inquisitor down on you if you move in on her man." Though he was mainly leering at Hawke, he spared a glance at Cullen, in time to catch him wince and hurriedly start downing his drink.  
  
"Pfft. Been there, had a statue made," Hawke laughed.  
  
" _Visuals_ , Hawke. People need to be able to sleep tonight," Varric chided through a wry grin.  
  
"Hey, it's not my fault you left that out of the book. Saving it for the annotated version?"  
  
"Wait, wait," Bull broke in. "You," he asked, indicating Hawke with meaty finger and then gesturing at Cullen, "and him?"  
  
"Briefly," Cullen said tightly. "And it would probably be better if we didn't go into-"  
  
Dorian slid another mug of ale down the table to the Commander. "You're just saying that because you haven't had enough to drink yet. Don't worry, we're here to help."  
  
"He's right." Bull punctuated his announcement by banging his fist on the table, making the empty glasses clink and the full ones slosh. "But first, we need details."

 

***

 

Cullen stared at his glass blearily, trying to remember how many he'd had; how he'd come to be leaning so heavily on the table; how they'd ended up discussing his relationships. He felt, distantly, that he should be more upset about most of these things, but somehow it seemed like a daunting prospect to muster the concentration to be upset. When he realized someone was finally talking directly to him again, instead of about him, he looked up and tried to focus.  
  
"Andraste's sacred pink nightgown, Commander!" Dorian's tone approached something like admiration. "You have a way with the powerful women, don't you? First Hawke, here, and now our Lady Inquisitor. Well played."  
  
"I thought you said he and the boss were fighting," Bull asked, tipsy and even louder than usual. Seeing what was very nearly a simultaneous cringe from all of his tablemates, he shrugged. "What? It's a secret?"  
  
"Apparently not," Cullen grumbled. "But then why should I have any control over any of my personal affairs?"  
  
"Curly," Varric chastised gently, "you can't _really_ be worried about it. Glowworm's only got eyes for you."  
  
"It doesn't matter where her eyes are if her hand is already somewhere else!" Cullen's ale slopped over the rim of the mug as he gestured vaguely. "How do you just **forget** you have a finan-... fenan-..." He paused at frowned at his glass. "You don't just forget something like that."  
  
Hawke had both of her feet up on the table now, resting lazily back in her chair. "Cullen. It's just one of those things Free Marches noblewomen do. It's like a tourney for them, pairing off their children. You remember how my mother was always trying to find some match or other for me."  
  
"I do!" More drops spilled from Cullen's cup. "And she didn't like me either!"  
  
Hawke snorted. "Well, to be fair, Mother didn't like templars. And I was constantly using you to shield myself from whichever aristocratic drip she was trying to interest me in. Apart from that," she shrugged, "Mother liked you fine."  
  
Cullen snorted derisively. "Oh, well, then. Sensational."  
  
"Say what you will about it," Bull offered, gesturing vaguely at the ceiling, "we don't have these kinds of problems under the Qun. I don't understand why you insist on making this more complicated than it needs to be." He waved off a low rumble of protest from the others. "No, this whole concept of marriage seems to do little more than make you all crazy. If you didn't get all **emotional** over a bit of pounce and bounce, it wouldn't matter if the Boss's parents are bringing some other _bas_ to mate her with."  
  
Hawke snorted into her beer while Dorian patted the qunari on the arm. "Oh, Bull, you old romantic." Which left Varric to deflect Cullen as he attempted to get to his feet, face reddening and finger pointing.  
  
"You ... you have care how you t-talk about her, you-"  
  
"Follower of the Qun?" Varric suggested, cutting Cullen off before his wobbly protest got serious. "Sit down, Curly. Bull's just trying to help." In an undertone, he finished, "I think."  
  
For his part, Bull looked bemused by the Commander's outburst. "See? If you had someone like like Tamassrans in charge of these things, you wouldn't have to get so excitable over it all. And you wouldn't end up with inferior offspring." Seeing Cullen starting to puff up again, he raised a hand, "No offense."  
  
"Evelyn's and my children will not be _inferior_ ," Cullen grumbled.  
  
Varric arched a bushy eyebrow and chuckled. "Something you and Glowworm are keeping from us, Curly?"

The Commander turned pink again, although it was increasingly difficult to tell if the color in his cheeks had to do with embarrassment, anger, or just plain intoxication. His mouth opened and shut several times as he cast about for an answer.  
  
"All this does is prove to me that your southern romantic bullshit is just that - bullshit," Bull snorted. "But if it's that important that you're the only one doing the three pump crotch tango with the Boss, there's no reason to let someone else ruin it for you. You should just go up to this guy and say 'The Boss' ... or whatever it is you call her ... 'The Boss and I aren't done fucking yet. You're going to have to wait.' Simple. To the point."  
  
"I'm not sure Evie would appreciate that," Cullen mumbled mulishly, swirling was was left of his drink it his glass.  
  
Dorian snorted out a breath, leaning heavily against Bull's arm and gesturing - ostensibly to Cullen - with his nearly-empty drink. "You know, this wouldn't be a problem back home. Or in Orlais. You get married to whoever, and you fuck whoever on the side, and no one minds."  
  
Bull glanced down at him, one eyebrow arched. "You minded."  
  
Dorian made a face and gave him a weak shove. "That's different. _This_ must be a Fereldan thing."  
  
Cullen stared at the table, seeming to consider the wood surface seriously while still mumbling quietly to himself.  
  
"Don't look at me," Hawke laughed. "I've never had a mistress. Or ..." She frowned, considering. "A manstress. Manstress?" She looked to Varric for help.  
  
"Well, if anyone could, Waffles, it'd be you," Varric returned with a crooked grin.  
  
A broad grin blossomed on Hawke's face. "Oh, why would I need anything other than my favorite dwarf? My one true love," she crooned, teetering dangerously on her chair.  
  
"You're right!" Cullen announced suddenly, causing all four heads to turn toward him.  
  
"I am?" Hawke echoed, forehead furrowing.  
  
"What? No." The former Templar wobbled to his feet. "I should tell Evie where I stand."  
  
" _If_ you can stand," Bull remarked, eying the tottering warrior with a mixture of amusement and concern.  
  
"She should know what's what before this other ... man ... gets here."  
  
The group around the table looked on with interest as the Commander wove toward the door, opening it after several tries, and then lurching out into the night. The tavern was, at last, quiet, disturbed only by the quiet thunk of Dorian's head sinking down to rest on the table.  
  
Hawke finally pulled her gaze away from the door to eye Bull and Varric. "He's not really going to do that, is he?"

 

***

 

Evie was sitting on a couch in her room, detangling her still-wet hair when she heard it. It sounded like shouting in the throne room. Muffled, at first, but getting louder until she started to wonder if it didn't sound like...  
  
"Cullen?" The Inquisitor opened the door slightly and peeked into the big room, squinting in the dim, late-evening light. It was largely empty now, save for a few guards at their posts and... And there he was, fumbling with the door to the Undercroft and plaintively calling her name.  
  
"Evie! Evelyn, someone's locked the door!"  
  
"Maker's tits," she hissed, glancing toward the large doors at the far end of the room in an attempt to determine how many people would witness her streaking across the room in her thin night chemise to retrieve him. After a moment, his continued loud floundering with the door handle overrode her concerns about modesty and she trotted across the room to touch his upper arm.   
  
"Cullen? What are you do-"  
  
He turned around at her touch, rather more slowly than his usual reaction time would have allowed. "THERE YOU ARE!" A cheeky smile broke across his face. "Were you hiding from me?"  
  
"Cullen, no." Evelyn's whisper was as loud as she dared. "What are you ... are you _drunk_?"   
  
The exaggerated way he shook his head would have tipped her off, even if the smell of ale on him hadn't. "Maker's breath. Come on; let's get you upstairs before Vivienne decides to see what's going on." She wrapped both arms around one of his and attempted to steer him back to her quarters. It would have been a lot easier if he'd felt like helping.  
  
"Andraste's knickers, you're beautiful," he mused, looking down affectionately at the wiry redhead as she shepherded him slowly toward the door. ".... pffft. _Knickers_."  
  
Evie sighed, casting a sidelong glance up at the Commander. "Did Dorian do this to you?" His beatific smile only served to rankle her further. "He did, didn't he? He **knows** you can't hold your liquor worth a damn," she grumbled. Once they were through the door, she paused to make sure it was latched, then set about helping Cullen up the stairs. "Dare I ask what brought on this frenzied imbibing?"  
  
Deposited near the bed, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and looked around. "I'm not sure I recall..." He sat heavily on the foot of the bed. "I know there was something."  
  
"I can just imagine." Evie rooted around in a drawer of her desk before heading back to the bed herself. "Here." She held out her hand, revealing a little red vial in her palm. "Get this down you."  
  
Cullen frowned at the bottle. "No, no. I'm not injured," he protested before turning a delighted smile on her. "Actually, I feel wonderful."  
  
Evelyn looked down at him for a moment and found she couldn't help herself; she started laughing. Cupping his cheek affectionately, she chuckled, "What am I going to do with you?"  
  
"Mmm. I can think of a few things," he responded, his voice a rumble as he kissed her palm.  
  
Evie blushed. "Honestly. You're incorrigible."  
  
"You love it," he murmured, eyes closing as he tugged her wrist gently to pull her closer.  
  
"I have terrible taste, clearly," she sighed, letting her head fall back as Cullen trailed kisses up the inside of her forearm. She smiled, humming her approval as he nuzzled the crook of her elbow. "It's a good thing for you I don't mind the smell of Fereldan beer..."  
  
Evie looked down as the weight on her arm increased. "Cullen?"  
  
"Cullen?"  
  
She hazarded nudging him gently and was rewarded with a gentle snore.  
  
" _Maker's tits._ "


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of NSFW ahead. Be warned. ;)
> 
> (I'm just transferring this over from the kmeme in bits and pieces because I've been meaning to for a bit; it is still a WIP in both places.)

When he could no longer ignore the light tormenting his eyelids, Cullen opened his eyes hesitantly. It was something he immediately regretted; he snapped them shut again as the morning sun seemed to lance directly into his brain. " _Maker's breath_ ," he groaned softly. Trying to avoid risking the same again, he attempted to get a better handle on his surroundings with his eyes shut. It was then he became fully aware of the warm body pressed against him. He breathed in gently, the soothing scent of Evelyn - vanilla and clove and mountain air - filling his nostrils, and he relaxed. That was a good sign, at least.  
  
Given the direction of the light, he supposed they were in her quarters (despite her continued prodding, he still wasn't in the habit of regarding the room as theirs), which also explained why the bed was soft and the room warmer. (He also supposed he'd get the roof of his room fixed eventually; meanwhile it provided a nice excuse to spend the night in hers.)  
  
Evie shifted in her sleep and he became abruptly aware of something else, as the brush of her shapely backside against his hips sent a flicker of arousal shivering up his spine. Reluctant to move but feeling compelled, he canted his hips backward away from her and considered how long they could safely lie there together. What time was it? How long before duties called them awa-  
  
His thoughts were disrupted as the woman cuddled against his chest wriggled her hips backward to meet his again. Cullen suppressed a groan as he tried to delicately squirm out of the way, only to have Evelyn match his movements. Which meant...  
  
"Evie? Are you awake?"  
  
"Aaaabsolutely not." The Inquisitor's voice was a sensuous purr.  
  
Cullen chuckled, though the pleasant rumble was cut short by a grimace. "Maker's breath, my head is a misery," he groaned, pressing his forehead against Evelyn's shoulders.  
  
"I'm not at all surprised, considering the state of you last night," came Evie's arch, but not unkind, reply. She shifted slightly on the bed, then reached an arm back to him. "Here. I tried to get this in you last night; it would have done a better job then, but it should help now, too."  
  
He risked opening his eyes again to find her brandishing a healing potion at him. "Oh, Blessed Andraste, thank you," he sighed, taking the little vial and quickly downing the contents. He set the empty bottle aside and snuggled against Evelyn's back again, tightening his arms around her. "You're too good to me."  
  
"Don't I know it?" Evie sighed, content to cuddle backward into the curve of his body. "Do I get an explanation of what last night was all about now?"  
  
Cullen stroked her belly absently while he considered. "Last night," he began finally, "is something of a haze. I _do_ recall there was beer-" He paused when Evie snorted softly. "Yes, I realize that's obvious," he continued dryly. "I was working in my office, and went to get something to drink. And ... I remember ... " He trailed off again, forehead furrowing. "Hawke? Hawke was there. With liquor."  
  
Evelyn arched an eyebrow and rolled slightly in his grip to give him A Look(TM). "You were out drinking with your ex?"

"H-how do you know sh-" He stopped when they both offered the answer at the same time. "Varric." Cullen shook his head (which was, happily, starting to lose some of its throb). "I stayed because she was there," he began, continuing quickly when Evie's expression darkened further, "and I didn't want her and Varric stirring up their particular brand of trouble unsupervised." He sighed as he added, "And Dorian and Bull were there to egg things on and ... well ... I'd had a difficult day..." He trailed off a bit sullenly.  
  
Evie softened at his downcast expression and wriggled about until she was fully facing him, reaching one hand up to tilt his chin and gaze back up to meet hers. "Cullen. I know it was a shock for you. It was a shock for me, too, really. But you know I'm not interested in anyone other than you."  
  
He nodded, but didn't look terribly reassured. "I know what I want, and I know what _you_ want," he said softly, "it's just what everyone else wants that has me concerned. What if-" His concern was cut off when Evie gently nabbed his lower lip between her finger and thumb.  
  
"I am reasonably certain that you and I are the only ones who matter in this," she replied, releasing his lower lip in favor of tracing his scarred upper one. "The only ones I care about. And, notably," she added, with a roll of her hips and a smile at his responding sharp intake of breath, "the only ones in this room."  
  
Cullen's smile returned, shy and wondering. One hand roamed up her arm and shoulder to cup her cheek. "You really are too good to me," he murmured. "The thought of losing you to something ... after everything we've been through to get this far..."  
  
Evie smile curled into a smirk. "You know, to avoid getting lost when I'm out on the road, I usually have a map." Her tone was playful as she dragged one hand lightly across the flat planes of his chest and stomach. "Perhaps I should try something similar here."  
  
Cullen sucked in another breath as she tilted her head to catch his thumb in her mouth. Her hands continued their contemplation of his stomach; now tracing lightly over scars, now riffling through the fine sprinkling of hair that started on his abdomen and grew denser as her fingers followed the trail lower. "Evelyn." His voice was little more than a whispered hiss.  
  
"Shhh. I'm mapping," she returned, her own tone low and husky as she dipped her head beneath the covers to follow the path her fingers had taken. She'd divested him of his armor and tunic the night before, but had given up the trousers as a bad job when he'd sleepily kicked at her for disrupting his drunken huddle. In retrospect, it had been a good decision; if she'd taken them off last night, she'd have robbed herself of the pleasure of feeling him twitch beneath her as she wove her fingers through the laces and worked them loose. She grinned to herself as his entire body shuddered when her slender fingers slipped through the opening she'd made and closed around him.  
  
"Evelyn," he groaned, stretching her name as he stretched his body, rolling his hips toward her.  
  
She chuckled darkly, enjoying the feeling of control along with the feeling of his cock hardening in her hand. "If you keep squirming, you're going to ruin my map," she teased, punctuating the thought with a slow, deliberate stroke. "I'd _hate_ to have to restrain you."

He squirmed regardless, one hand fisting the sheets and the other groping blinding for her head, fingers twining into her hair. She could hear him mumbling something as she circled her thumb over the tip before stroking his full length again. A quiver of arousal ran through her when she picked out garbled strands of the Chant from his muttering; turning the dignified and devout Commander to blaspheming putty at her touch had failed to lose any of its appeal over the months.  
  
Whatever sense could be made of his words melted away when she lowered her mouth to plant a gentle kiss on the tip of his cock before sweeping across it with her tongue. Her thumb followed quickly behind, swiping with it both her saliva and the precum beading along his slit to stroke down to the base again. She answered his fingers twisting in her hair with a moan of her own before chasing her palm with her mouth, humming as she sheathed him between her lips. Cullen's whole body stiffened at the sensation and there was a moment of perfect stillness between them before he gave a strangled cry and started to rock his hips gently. Evelyn rose and fell to meet him, her free hand seeking out his fingers in her hair. Their hands wound together as he thrust into her mouth with an uneven pace and she worked over his contours with the flat of her tongue.  
  
Warm and secure and somewhat deprived of oxygen under the covers, Evie closed her eyes and relaxed into the rhythm they settled into, enjoying the things her eyes couldn't tell her instead; the soft grunts that accompanied every shift of his hips; the scent of sweat and sex and _him_ that surrounded her; the satiny feeling of his cock sliding in and out of her mouth contrasting the pinching tugs on strands of her hair.  
  
His voice was rough when he spoke again; a simple, broken warning. "Evie."  
  
She pulled back, still ghosting along his shaft with one hand, her voice a languorous hum. "Should I stop?"  
  
Cullen's fingers tightened around hers, his breath coming in heavy pants. "I ... no. Please," he all but whined as she nuzzled his slippery cock with her cheek. "Evie."  
  
With a grin, she laved his tip and his hips jerked, seeming eager to resume their rhythm. With a disapproving hum, she pressed him down into the bed with her hands before drawing him back into her mouth entirely. His hips strained against her fingers as she sucked, bobbing her head, flicking the underside of his head each time she rose. She felt his climax as it began, seemingly, as a rumble in his throat that rose from his mouth in a wail, and from his cock as she tasted him, bitter and salty and familiar, coating her tongue.  
  
When his hips finally sagged she stopped swallowing and spiraled her tongue up his softening length as she let him slip out of her mouth. She feathered a trail of kisses up over his hips and across his stomach and chest, pausing to dip her tongue into the hollow of his throat before arriving back at his mouth. His eyes were open again, and he regarded her from beneath hooded lids as she emerged from under the blanket.  
  
"Well." She exhaled with a smirk. "I think I've about gotten the details do- oh!" Whatever smart remark she'd been planning was lost as he crushed her against him for a greedy kiss, enjoying the lingering flavor of himself on her lips. She gave a satisfied sigh when they broke apart again and she gave him a lazy grin. "I really **am** too good to you."  
  
"Oh, I agree." Cullen's grin turned wolfish and he rolled them over. "I think I'd best even things up, lest I fall too far behind."  
  
Evelyn's eyes sparkled mischievously and she ran her tongue over her lush upper lip. "I'm certainly happy to let you try," she teased. "You have a lot of work to d-"

They stared at one another, waiting to see who would break first. A battled raged on Cullen's face as a frown tried to conquer the grin. The foot Evelyn had been running up Cullen's calf stuttered in its path. For a long moment, neither of them spoke nor moved. It was the disheartened Inquisitor who yielded to duty at last.  
  
"That's the lookout bell, isn't it?" she sighed.  
  
Cullen's head drooped until his forehead rested on hers. "Yes. Yes I believe it is."  
  
"That means someone's approaching, doesn't it?"  
  
The both knew the answer, but he nodded vaguely against her anyway.  
  
"I should probably have pants on when my parents get here, shouldn't I?"  
  
Cullen gave a mighty sigh. "Unless they do things very differently in Ostwick, yes, that seems prudent." He gave her a mournful look and her smile returned, shyly. She cupped his cheek and attempted to pull the edge of his mouth up with her thumb. "No regrets. There'll be plenty of time later."  
  
He forced himself to return her smile and gripped her wrist lightly so he could kiss her palm. "I swear it." Years practicing being the authority figure when things around him were sliding well and truly out of his control came in handy as he stroked her arm. With her family and fiancé arriving, bringing reality to intrude on the life they'd been building, he just hoped she was right.


	5. Chapter 5

"How many of them _are_ there?" Bull muttered quietly. "I didn't know the point of this thing was to bring every person in Ostwick."  
  
Dorian chuckled, shifting his weight to the other foot. It seemed as though they'd been watching the procession make their way into Skyhold's courtyard for hours. Up on the ramparts, they were exposed to the ever-frosty mountain breeze, and he considered, not for the first time, that he should have brought a chair and a blanket. "You should see what it's like when my family travels," he returned. "It takes two dozen slaves for my mother's wardrobe alone."  
  
"I'm glad the Boss isn't like that. Although," Bull mused, "it might be preferable to carry a bag of her shoes through the Hinterlands instead of the bits of demon goo she insists on bringing back here to study."  
  
Dorian gave a vague grunt of agreement, though they both knew the mage himself never carried anything gooey. His gaze traced along the line of retainers and guards filing into the space below, following their path up to where Evelyn and her advisors were standing, waiting, on the steps of the keep. They certainly weren't hard to spot - Josephine had, for some unholy reason, forced them back into the formal wear she'd made them wear to the Winter Palace. This was, in fact, one of the reasons Dorian was lurking up on the battlements to watch rather than standing with his friend. He'd gladly walk into the abyss at Evie's behest, but wear that outfit again? Well, the bonds of friendship only stretched so far.  
  
He was pleased to see Evie holding up fairly well under the pressure thus far, hideous attire aside. Josephine had stationed herself at one of the Inquisitor's elbows, writing board at the ready, gesturing with her quill to different people as they entered. She was animatedly whispering what Dorian supposed were their names and positions in Evie's ear. He smiled as he watched his friend try to school her expression to keep from betraying any exasperation at the ambassador's eagerness. They were _her_ family's people, after all.  
  
The mage was distracted when Bull nudged him. "Ah, here we go. Finally." The Qunari dipped one horn down toward the main gate to indicate the main event had finally arrived.  
  
"Oh good!" Dorian leaned forward to rest his forearms on the brick ledge in front of them. "Let's get a look at this imported Free Marcher stallion."

  
  
***

  
  
Evie stiffened slightly when she saw her parents at last, simultaneously relieved and suddenly quite nervous this procession was almost over. She felt a little swell of pride that both her parents were astride their own horses; affection for breeding the animals was one of the few things the members of her family had always had in common. It occurred to her to spare a glance for Carrick, but not finding the man easily, she focused her attention back on her mother and father, now dismounting before her and the small entourage gathered on the steps of the keep.  
  
A beat of awkward silence passed as parents looked up at their distinguished offspring; their roles now quite reversed from the last time they'd seen one another. For a moment, an impressive stillness settled on the courtyard as everyone waited for something - though no one knew quite what - to happen.

It wasn't a surprise when the Inquisitor was the first to act. Nor was it a surprise - at least not to those who lived at Skyhold - when the act she chose was to fling herself off the landing. A unified gasp rose through the Ostwick contingent at the sight of the Herald of Andraste airborne, arms outstretched, flying toward her parents. The collective breath they let out when she landed in a tuck and rolled gracefully to her feet stirred the loose leaves on the ground. Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose, Cullen grinned, Cassandra looked amused (if exasperated), Evelyn's parents looked astonished, but it was Evie's delighted shout that echoed off the stone walls. "Mother! Papa!"

  
***

  
"Boss knows how to make an entrance, huh?" Bull watched the display with a smirk.  
  
"With any luck, she's ruined that jacket at last," Dorian offered, distracted as he scanned the rest of the newly-arrived crowd. "So where is he?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"You're supposed to be the super spy." The mage glanced up at the taller man with a flicker of annoyance. "I'm surprised you don't have a dossier on him already."  
  
"You know, 'vint, I can't help but notice you're more concerned about this guy than anyone else is," Bull teased.  
  
Dorian snorted. "Well, forget what I said about super spies, then," he said, jerking his chin toward the steps of the keep. "I'm **hardly** the most interested one."  
  
Bull followed his gesture with a puzzled frown; an expression quickly replaced by an understanding frown instead. "Ah. Right."  
  
Cullen was scanning the crowd in similar fashion; though he was doing his best to conceal it, anyone who focused on the Commander would have pegged him as searching for someone in particular.  
  
The Qunari folded his arms and inclined his head slightly toward Dorian. "What's this guy supposed to look like again?"  
  
Dorian made a face, gaze still searching the crowd. "Evie hasn't seen him for a while, but she said he was gawky. Big ears, gangly limbs he needed to grow into. That sort of thing. Awkward movements. Messy red hair."  
  
"Mmm. _Redheads._ We sure the boss doesn't want this guy? Because I haven't had a Marcher redhead in-"  
  
"Oh, dear."  
  
Dorian's tone of dismay caught Bull's attention and he followed the line of the other man's gaze back to the front of the procession. Hugs and welcomes duly exchanged, Evie's parents had parted slightly to allow another to join their reunion. He was tall, certainly, but his frame was well-proportioned to his height; broad shoulders and well-muscled arms filled out his formal white jacket admirably. When he turned to remark on the keep, the mountain sunshine illuminated looks Dorian recognized instinctively as the product of ages of noble breeding. His hair was more auburn than red, and it was tousled in a way that seemed more intentional than a side effect of riding up the mountain. Of the pair, it was Evelyn who looked gawky; her mouth drooped open slightly as she stared at him.  
  
"I certainly hope that's her brother," Dorian breathed quietly.  
  
The man in the white jacket, smiling confidently, swept forward in a deep bow, catching Evelyn's hand as he did so and using both of his to press it to his lips. Evelyn looked faint. Her parents beamed. Atop the stairs, Cullen turned red.  
  
Bull snorted. "Not her brother."

 

***

 

Months of dealing with every formal situation she'd ever trained for, and a great many more she'd never even dreamed of, had left Evelyn pretty quick on her feet. She could trade barbs with the best masked opponents Orlesian salons had to offer. Negotiating a treaty with a grumpy old lord looking to prove he wasn't going to be pushed around by 'some upstart girl and her band of outcasts', as one had put it, was second nature to her now. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been caught wrong-footed when it came to the social graces.  
  
So this was already proving to be a memorable encounter.  
  
Her first, irrational impulse was to ask her parents if they were certain they'd brought the right person. Because this ... this strapping wall of man was surely not the same Carrick she remembered chasing her across her family's lawns with a clod of mud in his hand. Sure, if she squinted and tilted her head to the side, she could see some of the scrawny youth she remembered teaming up with her brother to torment her. Buried in there, somewhere, beneath the chiseled cheekbones and strong jaw, or perhaps cozied between his jacket and rippling chest, or-  
  
"Cat got your tongue, Evelyn?" Carrick asked as he rose from his knee. The voice she remembered sounding stretched and brittle was now smooth; still mid-toned but rich and soft, like crisp silk. His hands, too, were smooth and Evelyn felt a pang of self-consciousness as he rubbed one thumb idly over a patch of battle-callused skin on her own. It was enough to jolt her back to her senses. She pulled free of his grip as gracefully as she could and schooled her expression into a smile.  
  
"Carrick. I'd honestly never have recognized you," she offered finally, pleased her voice sounded more or less steady.  
  
A grin curved his lips. "It has been a while since we've seen one another," he agreed with a nod. "It's a relief we'll soon never have to worry about that again, hmm?"  
  
"Yes! Well! Yes." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded tinny with forced good cheer and just a _hint_ of rising panic. What had her parents been promising him on the trip here? "We should introduce people. To each other. You. All of you," she fumbled, sweeping toward the group still on the steps with one hand and whacking Josephine in the arm as she did so. "OH! Maker's breath, I didn't see you there Josie," she gasped. One of Josephine's eyebrows crept up as Evie fixed her with a too-tight grin. "That's one of the best things about you, though; always where I need you, even if I don't know I need it. You. Need you."  
  
To her great credit, Jospehine held Evie's gaze steadily, acting as though the Inquisitor wasn't possibly on the precipice of some sort of fit. The soothing confidence in the Ambassador's dark eyes gave Evie the power to gather her thoughts. She took a broken breath and put a hand on Josie's forearm before turning back to her parents and their assembly. "Ambassador, permit me to present my parents Lady Adele and Bann Oswin Trevelyan. Mother, Father, may I present Ambassador Montilyet?" She sighed as softly as she could as Josie swept into action, grateful to both the Maker and her own long-suffering childhood tutor that etiquette was apparently a reflex action. _I'll never think poorly of you again, Sister Brighid._

The moment to breathe gave Evie a moment to tamp down her nerves, and her voice was more recognizable when continued, "And this is Ser Penavon." She gestured to the man, without quite turning to him. Eye contact seemed risky. Josephine took his hand gracefully and, Evie noted with a stab of envy, didn't turn into a stammering fool when Carrick pressed one of the her hands to his lips. She chased away the thought with a shake of her head; no point in dwelling on it. Whatever impression her family had given Carrick, he'd be leaving here with them after ... well, after however long they were staying. _Of course he would. No question._ It didn't matter, in the end, if he thought she was a bit jumpy.  
  
Thus reassured, she made sure her smile was again in place, stepped forward to take her mother's arm and lead the group toward the stairs. "And this is one of my advisors," she said, indicating Cassandra since the Nevarran was standing closest. "Mother, may I present Lady Cassandra Allegra Portia- er..." Evie hesitated as the Seeker turned a glare on her. "Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast."  
  
"But of course," Lady Trevelyan said, holding one hand out to the Seeker and smiling. "We've met before in Val Royeaux, though it was some time ago; I'm sure you don't remember. The Divine's death was _such_ a tragedy, my dear, I'm pleased to see you're well. We weren't surprised in the least when your name was circulating amongst the Grand Clerics at the Consensus."  
  
Cassandra clasped the offered hand and gave an abbreviated bow. "Lady Trevelyan. It is a pleasure to see you again."  
  
"Are you still working closely with the new Divine? I don't suppose she'll be here while we're visiting?" She glanced around, as though she expected Leliana might be hovering somewhere nearby.  
  
"Divine Victoria is quite busy with her new duties, I'm afraid. She will no doubt be sorry to have missed your visit, however."  
  
Lady Trevelyan smiled coyly. "I don't suppose _you'd_ be able to see about getting us an audience, Seeker?"  
  
A tiny crinkle appeared on Cassandra's forehead. "I suppose I might, at some point," she offered, "but the Inquisitor would probably have better luck in that respect." After a moment or two of resting under the older woman's blank stare, she indicated Evie with a slight nod. "The Inquisitor has been more closely involved with reestablishing the Chantry while I've been more directly involved with ... other matters."  
  
The older Trevelyan looked slightly bemused as she turned her gaze back on her daughter. "Have you really, darling? How wonderful," she cooed, sounding every bit the indulgent mother.  
  
"I ... well, we do a lot of things, Mother," Evelyn managed awkwardly, wondering how, exactly, her mother supposed she'd been spending her time. _Mostly we knit and throw parties, but sometimes we dispense justice in an unjust world. Also we kill demons on the side._ Pushing that thought to the ever-growing pile of things to worry about later, she cleared her throat and stepped back up onto the landing at last. She gave Cullen - looking a bit stiff as he awaited his turn - an encouraging smile before turning back to her parents. "And _this_ ," she said proudly, "is-"

"Evelyn, darling." Her mother made a show of rubbing her arms and pulling her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. "It's simply _freezing_ out here. I don't know how you can stand it; I do hope you've been keeping warm, dear. Surely we can save further introductions for after we've settled in. Preferably in front of a fire, hmm?" She spared a dismissive glance for Cullen before continuing, "It's been a very long journey. I'm sure your staff understands."  
  
"I'd really like-" Evie began, even as her father was slipping his arm through her mother's and steering them toward the door. Josephine hurried along beside the pair, cheerfully rattling off the details of their accommodation. Evelyn huffed a sigh and moved to follow, only to find her own arm being taken up in similar fashion. Her attention snapped back to find Carrick at her side, smiling confidently.  
  
"Shall we, my dear?" He didn't give her a chance to respond before he was following her father's lead and shepherding them inside. "I hope you'll be able to give me the full tour of the grounds later on. It seems you've got a fine facility here."  
  
She nodded vaguely to Carrick while casting an apologetic look at Cullen, only to find the Commander looking chagrined and slightly flushed before she lost sight of him behind the heavy wooden doors of the main hall.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the best efforts of a nigh-frantic Josephine, the day of the Ostwick party's arrival had been more filled with logistics than formal celebration; where to put retainers, mounts, and luggage had taken the better part of the early day, and (to her shameful relief) the arrival of a messenger with news from Val Royeaux had liberated Evelyn from the task of playing hostess into the evening hours. Frustratingly, the same urgent business had also prevented her from catching up with Cullen.  
  
Evie sighed into her wine glass. The next morning hadn't proven much better. When she'd gotten the opportunity to introduce Cullen and her family at last, the former had been particularly stiff and uncertain and the latter discouragingly distant and high-handed.  
  
_The morning sunshine didn't provide much warmth, but it was cheery in the garden courtyard as she'd walked with her parents and Carrick after breakfast. She managed to nod in the right places at their praise for the surroundings, but her gaze continually darted toward the doors from the keep for any sign of Cullen; he knew they were out here. What was the hold up? Her attention drifted back to the sound of her mother's voice as she heard a tone of reproach.  
  
"- been that hard to eke out a larger area for the chapel, surely? You've got enough space here, and you _are__ _a prominent member of the Chantry now, after a fashion."_  
  
_Evie blinked at her mother as her mind raced to place the criticism. "It's something we're considered for the future," she offered after a moment. That seemed safe. She relaxed a bit when her mother nodded, seemingly mollified by this response, only to tense up again when the Commander finally emerged into the courtyard. "Oh, here's Commander Cullen!" she said brightly, steering the group toward him as he strode in their direction._  
  
_And things had gone downhill from there._  
  
_"Military man, hmm?" was her father's politely disinterested response. "Reliable work."_  
  
_"I'd heard you were a Templar, actually," Carrick put in as he stepped forward to shake hands._  
  
_Evie turned a proud smile on Cullen. "Knight Commander, in fact."_  
  
_Carrick's smile widened. "That's right. In Kirkwall, wasn't it?"_  
  
_Evelyn's mother, who'd been working up to a smile after the world 'Templar' took a half step back, with one hand on her chest. " **Kirkwall**? Was that before or after the ... unpleasantness?_  
  
_"Ah ... more or less during, I'm afraid," Cullen replied. The tips of his ears pinkened subtly as Evie shut her eyes and sighed at her mother's responding gasp. The Inquisitor therefore missed the trace of unpleasantness that seeped into Carrick's smile._  
  
_Cullen did not._  
  
_Lady Trevelyan's manners rallied though her demeanor didn't quite manage to rebound. She reached forward to pat Cullen's hand lightly and gave him a taut smile. "Well. I'm sure you did your best, my dear."_

The Inquisitor rested her chin in her palm, eyeing the others around the large dining room. Josephine had outdone herself, Evie thought, pulling together the welcoming dinner so quickly. Large oak tables were laid out in a U so everyone could at least see one another, if not speak easily. Her gaze drifted, as it had repeatedly throughout the evening, to one of the arms of the U, where Cullen was seated between her mother and Vivienne - though the way they were talking over him it was hard to tell if they'd noticed. He'd stopped attempting to break into their conversation around the fish course. The candle centerpiece seemed to be consuming his attention now; he sat stiffly in his chair, arms resting heavily on the table in front of him. While he looked forbidding and distant, she didn't doubt he was really pondering some training exercise or troop movement. Evie managed to catch his eye for a moment, offering an encouraging smile and warming slightly when he returned it. Darn Josie and her seating etiquette... she'd have much rather been sitting beside him than between her father and...  
  
"Have you been riding much lately, Evelyn?" Carrick asked. She cut her gaze back toward the other man. The difference between his and Cullen's demeanor was almost laughable. For Carrick to seem any more relaxed, he would have had to have been reclining. Possibly being fanned by servants with palm fronds. As it was, he was turned toward her in his chair, one elbow supporting his weight on the table, and the other hand holding his wine glass out at an angle. He didn't bother looking up at the server who refilled it for him.  
  
She couldn't help chuckling. "Much is a bit of an understatement. Orlais and Ferelden are surprisingly large when you start crisscrossing them on a regular basis. Building up the Inquisition's stables were one of my first orders of business."  
  
Carrick smiled. "I'm not surprised. You always had an eye for horseflesh."  
  
"Horseflesh and more, these days," Evie said, smiling proudly. "You should see some of the mounts we have down there now."  
  
"Mostly Ferelden and Orlesian animals, I suppose?" His nose crinkled slightly at the thought.  
  
Evie acquiesced with a small shrug. "Most of the troops' mounts are, yes. They were most readily at hand, obviously. But we've gathered animals from all over. I even have a few who trace back to some of Father's lines," she said, warming to the topic. "And the horses are lovely, but the other creatures are truly remarkable."  
  
"Other creatures?" Carric quirked one eyebrow and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Such as?"  
  
"You'll just have to come down and find out," Evie teased, expression deliberately enigmatic. "I'd suggest wearing something you don't mind getting dirty. Or slimey. Or singed."  
  
"Maker's breath, Evelyn!" he laughed. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I? The summer cottage all over again."  
  
Evie puffed up indignantly, eyes flashing but a broad grin on her face. "The summer cottage was entirely Iain's and your fault!" she sputtered. "Not that that inspired either of you to take the blame for it."  
  
Carrick was still laughing. "Why would we take the blame for it when we had you to hide behind? Mother was a terror; we needed you to protect us."  
  
"She was pretty terrifying. All covered in lake slime," Evie giggled. "I thought I was going to die when she came through the door before your brother."

"It seemed like a safe enough prank at the time. I'd no idea Marcus was onto us."  
  
"Your brother was _always_ onto us!" Evie snorted. "Don't you remember the Roundtree's Satinalia ball?"  
  
"Marcus' dress uniform!" Carrick grinned broadly. "I learned all sorts of interesting things at that ball. Not the least of which was my brother had servants on his private payroll," he chuckled.  
  
"He was always well advanced for his age," Evie agreed, sipping her wine with a fond smile.  
  
"He was at that. I seem to recall something else about that ball..." He leaned closer to whisper against one of the Inquisitor's flushing cheeks. "A certain young Lady Trevelyan's first kiss, I believe?"  
  
Evie swirled her drink, canted her head to one side, trying to balance moving away with not offending. "Bryce McCown. I haven't thought about him in an age." She gazed off into the mid-distance, remembering silently, before adding, "I hope he is resting well at the Maker's side."  
  
"I'm sure he is," Carrick offered, resting one hand on Evie's. "He was proud as a peacock after he stole that kiss, you know. I was positively _green_ with envy."  
  
Gently, but in a way that brooked no argument on his part, Evelyn extracted her hand from beneath his on the chair arm. She met his gaze steadily. Thoughtfully. Carrick's smile was still warm and, while she caught a flicker of something else in his eyes, his expression was kind and soft-hearted. While she'd have preferred to sit with Cullen, she couldn't deny their conversation throughout dinner had been enjoyable. He was witty, and too charming by half, and had an easy way about him that seemed to relieve all the pressure of noble etiquette nonsense she usually felt at these kinds of dinners. And he certainly wasn't difficult to look at. The daydream was upon her without warning, sped along, no doubt, by the wine. Evelyn Trevelyan, youngest of Bann Trevelyan, looking radiant amongst a forest of flowers on her wedding day. Her dashing young Lord Penavon waiting for her on the Chantry steps. Riding over their lands together, working to make things better for their people. Warm nights by the fire, sharing tales of their childhood exploits with their own offspring. It was a pretty dream. Lady Evelyn Trevelyan of Ostwick would have been happy in that life.  
  
But it was Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan who was looking back at Carrick now, and it was she who responded quietly, kindly, "That was a very long time ago, wasn't it?"  
  
Carrick was still, holding her gaze for a moment longer, before his smile turned mischievous again. "It's nice to remember, sometimes, though, don't you think? If not for us, who'd keep the tale of the lake slime alive?"  
  
Pleased to see he'd taken her meaning with good grace, Evie allowed herself to grin. "Perhaps we should have it preserved. Oh! We could have a plaque made. I know quite a lot of plaque-makers now."  
  
Carrick snorted. "I can only imagine how that would go over. But that dress was never the same. She eventually had the servants burn it."  
  
" _Maker_ ," Evie gasped, attempting to smother her giggles with her handkerchief. Their conversation was starting to attract attention from around the table; she spotted Dorian looking over from the far end of the table, amusement mingling with curiosity, before returning to his conversation with Dagna.

Her mother was also glancing around Carrick to see what was going on, though the reproach Evie anticipated wasn't forthcoming; apparently she was just pleased to see her daughter and Carrick getting along. Evie's gaze drifted past her mother and back to Cullen and her mother's missing reminders to be 'ladylike' were abruptly unnecessary. The Commander's flushed cheeks and pink ears were enough to sober her.  
  
Eager to recapture her attention, Carrick brushed her arm with one hand. "Well, I'm certainly going to take you up on a tour of the stables," he said, smiling as she turned back to him. "I think I have a jacket or two that I can risk to ... whatever it is you're keeping down there. Perhaps you can give me the full tour tomorrow?"  
  
Evelyn smiled, still warmly but having regained a good deal of her composure. "I'd like that. I'm usually in the stables just after luncheon. If you come down then, I'd be proud to show you around."  
  
Carrick clinked his wine glass delicately against hers. "It's a date."


	7. Chapter 7

After the bustle and chatter of the dining room, Evie welcomed the velvety quiet of her balcony. The only sounds were muffled voices floating up from the grounds far below and the whisper of the chill mountain wind. She leaned against the stone railing, thankful for the warmth of the fur blanket she'd wrapped around herself. All things considered, the dinner hadn't gone that badly. She and Carrick had, she hoped, come to an understanding. Her father had seemed delighted to share pleasantries and stories with Josephine and Varric on his side, while her mother had exchanged courtly gossip with Vivienne. Dagna and Dorian had kept one another entertained as they usually did; no doubt Dagna would be requisitioning some odd ingredient or other in the days to come. Hopefully nothing would explode this time - Dorian was a terrible influence. Harding and Blackwall had spent most of the night engrossed in some discussion of the Orlesian countryside. In fact, the only one who hadn't seemed to enjoy himself was...  
  
Evie tilted her head back toward her room to listen. She smiled at the sound of steps on the stairs. There was no need to ask who it was; she recognized the gait from many nights' experience. "I'm out here," she called softly before turning back to look down at the courtyard. When Cullen failed to materialize beside her a moment later, she turned to look back into the room.  
  
Cullen had stopped in the balcony doorway, lips pursed in a mild frown, eyes questioning. "I thought I'd stop by before bed," he began. "I wasn't sure..."  
  
Evie quirked an eyebrow. "You thought you'd stop by?" she echoed. "Stop by?" She adjusted the blanket as she took a step toward him. "You're not staying?"  
  
"I wasn't sure if you'd want me to, or if you'd be otherwise engaged. And I'm not sure it's a good idea, in any event," came the stiff reply.  
  
Evie was frowning, too, now. "What in the Void are you talking about?"  
  
A flush had started to work its way up Cullen's neck. Evie noticed him clenching one fist. "I'd hate to be a disappoint to you, after you had such scintillating dinner conversation. I must seem awfully common by comparison."  
  
"Cullen." Evie started to bristle slightly. "Are you _jealous_?"  
  
He barked a laugh. "Well, it was made abundantly clear to me that I don't measure up, wasn't it? Between you and _him_ , thick has thieves all night, and your mother and Vivienne chatting amongst themselves about backwater things like Fereldans. I don't even know why I attended."  
  
"You attended," Evelyn said, trying to keep her voice even, "because you're an important member of the Inquisition, and, more importantly, you're important to me."  
  
"Which is why I was sitting halfway across the room while you conspired with your fiancé?"  
  
"You were sitting halfway across the room because Josephine made the seating plan!" she shot back, losing the battle against her temper even while a guilty flush stained her cheeks. "As you well know, and are choosing to overlook because you've decided to act like a child."

"Oh, I'm a _child_ now, too, am I? We'll add that to the list, shall we? A jealous child who smells of wet dog!"  
  
Evie opened her mouth to shout back but stumbled as her mind caught up with the conversation. "Smells of wet dog?" she asked after a moment.  
  
"Your mother's assessment. Or Vivienne's. I'm not sure which of them mentioned it first."  
  
The Inquisitor sighed and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms. She'd been looking forward to finally, _finally_ having some time alone with him. Why were they fighting over this stupidity? "Cullen. Vivienne is a snob. She's a good ally, and a friend, but she's a snob. I expect she, herself, would admit this. My mother is a lovely woman, and an even more experienced snob, who subsists on tea, planning her children's lives, and gossip. Whatever they were talking about, I doubt it was directed at you. I doubt they even remembered you were there after a point."  
  
"Well, that makes me feel **much** better," Cullen huffed sullenly.  
  
Looking up again, Evie straightened her shoulders and closed the rest of the space between them. "It's also worth noting, I think, which of them is up here now." She made a show of glancing into the darkened room behind him. "Hmm. I don't see anyone other thaaaan..." Her gaze landed back on the Commander and she fixed him with an expectant look.  
  
His expression softened slightly. "You seemed to be having a good time with him," he offered, brushing a stray lock of her hair back behind her ear.  
  
Evie's mouth curved in a small, tired smile. "We were talking about covering his mother in pond slime."  
  
"... what?"  
  
"When he was 13 and I was 11, I believe? At a summer fête his parents threw. By virtue of the fact he, his older brothers, and mine, were all incorrigible pranksters and generally little hellions at such gatherings, there was quite a lot of pond slime in my childhood. And manure. And tar."  
  
"That is what you were talking about?"  
  
"That, and horses."  
  
Cullen sighed deeply, seeming to deflate all at once. "Dinner was quite ... uncomfortable for me," he said, scrubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. "I have a dreadful headache and seeing you so at ease there, I..." He paused, gazing at the floor self-consciously. "Well, I felt very out of place."  
  
Evie hooked her finger under Cullen's down-turned chin to raise his gaze to meet hers. "I'm sorry. I should have insisted Josie seat us together."  
  
"No, I apologize." Cullen shook his head, looking chagrined. "I know she had to follow some order of status or other. I don't have much experience with that sort of thing. My family certainly never ... and Templars don't ..." He stopped short, huffing another sigh. "You're right," he admitted. "I was jealous."  
  
A little smile played with Evelyn's lips again. "You don't say?" Before he could frown again, she shifted her fingers from his chin to cover his lips. "In Josie's defense, she did know we'd be together now. Perhaps she was hoping that would make up for it?"  
  
Cullen nuzzled her fingers gently. "You're certain you wouldn't rather be here with someone else?"  
  
The little smile curled into a sly grin as Evelyn let the fur blanket slip off her shoulders, leaving her wearing nothing but the pale moonlight. "Do you have to ask?"


	8. Chapter 8

Some hours later, a pair of narrowed eyes tracked Cullen's progress across the keep's walkways as he made his way back to his room.  
  
"You're up late."  
  
The sudden, gruff voice from behind him made Carrick jump, and he turned to look at the speaker.  
  
Blackwall was regarding him steadily, arms folded, watching the other man's expression shift from the distaste he'd seen before he announced himself to settle into a polite smile. "It is a nice night though, if you fancy walking around in the dark," he continued. "Provided you can get used to the cold."  
  
Carrick offered a gracious smile. "It does get rather chilly here, doesn't it? Especially for those of us from farther north. You're a Marcher yourself, aren't you?" He extended a hand to shake. "Carrick Penavon. It was Warden Blackwall, wasn't it?"  
  
The bearded man grunted in confirmation, giving Carrick's hand as brief a shake as possible. "Just Blackwall will suffice."  
  
"As you please, serah. Whereabouts are you from? At least, originally? I imagine the Grey Wardens roam from place to place quite a lot."  
  
Blackwall shifted his weight slightly. "Markham. Though that was a long time ago. I am, however, familiar with your family." He eyed the other man a moment before adding, "Imagine I left before your time."  
  
"Oh, but that's remarkable!" Carrick enthused, smiling broadly. "Evelyn didn't mention she had anyone from home here."  
  
Another grunt. "Well, as I said, it was a long time ago. Don't know that it would have occurred to her."  
  
"I see. Do you still have any family there?"  
  
"Not to speak of, no." When Carrick continued looking at him expectantly, he sighed. "'spose I consider the others here my family now," he rumbled, shifting his weight awkwardly again. "Some of 'em, anyway."  
  
Carrick nodded. "I can only imagine what you've been through here," he mused. "With all these ... different sorts of people Evelyn's collected. Dwarves and elves. Even a qunari, I heard, though I don't think I've seen him."  
  
Blackwall snorted. "You'd know if you had."  
  
"I suppose you're right, there. I have met a few of the others, though. That writer... Tethras? He seemed an interesting sort. I've read that book about the Champion of Kirkwall; hard to believe it's written by a dwarf, isn't it?"  
  
"Why's that, then?" Blackwall quirked a bushy eyebrow.  
  
"Well ... he's a _dwarf_. You'd expect them to write about ... stones and rocks and what have you, wouldn't you? But he's really quite well-spoken."  
  
"Don't imagine stories about rocks would sell so well with Free Marches nobles," the burly man grumbled.  
  
"No, I suppose you're right," Carrick replied mildly. "I imagine you're more used to such things, anyway, hmm? All these different ... people ... around. The Grey Wardens take in all sorts of dwarves and elves and whatnot, too, don't they? Perhaps that's what they were basing all this on," he said, gesturing vaguely at the keep.  
  
A crease appeared between Blackwall's eyebrows. "Basing the keep on?"  
  
"Mmm? Oh, no. The whole Inquisition business. I can see how they wouldn't want to follow the Chantry, necessarily. Given the circumstances. Perhaps they wanted to emulate the Grey Wardens." He gave Blackwall a benign smile. "Bringing in lesser types to do the grunt work and all that."  
  
Carrick didn't seem particularly disturbed by the near-glare Blackwall turned on him, so the brawny faux-warden tried a different tactic. "I believe the Inquisitor's guiding principle was to gather people who wanted to help. You'll find that elves and dwarves and qunari are just as eager to avert the end of the world as humans." He adjusted his stance again and muttered in an undertone, "Assuming you'd think to ask them."

The noble nodded enthusiastically. "It's a testament to the leadership that they've made use of all of the, uh, special talents of the less-, er, other races, I think. But surely you aren't suggesting Evelyn's responsible for all of that ... day to day business?" His frown was slightly perplexed, as though Blackwall was the server who'd told him they were out of beef and would he like the chicken instead? "I hadn't honestly believed she was anything more than a figurehead."  
  
Blackwall's responding laugh was more of a bark. "A figurehead? Did you suppose the mark on her hand was just there for show, then?"  
  
"Well," Carrick folded his arms even as he shifted his head to give himself a more down-the-nose angle on the other man. "I haven't actually seen it. I was beginning to wonder if it wasn't just another fabrication. The Inquisition wanted a leader who was easy to accept, and they chose a young, attractive noblewoman from a family with a long history of involvement with the Chantry. It makes more sense than picturing _Evelyn_ tromping through the muck, saving the world with the light from her _hand_."  
  
A moment of silence hung in the air between them before Blackwall nodded. "Aye. I suppose it's hard to force some notions through when you've got a thick skull. F'you'll excuse me, my lord, I should retire for the evening." He offered the other man an abbreviated bow before stalking off toward the stable, brushing past Dorian before he was more than 20 paces away. "Prat."  
  
The mage arched an eyebrow, glancing between the retreating warrior and the disinterested noble. He made a show of rolling his eyes as he continued to approach Carrick. "Don't mind him. He only stumbled out of the woods not long ago. We've just begun domesticating him."  
  
Carrick gave a snort. "Not at all. I'm used to dealing with common behavior in the administration of my family's holdings. Although I have encountered rather more of it than usual since we crossed the Waking Sea."  
  
Dorian grinned. "I know _just_ what you mean. I think it's the cold, personally. It's difficult to be civil when your feet are frozen."  
  
"A fair point," Carrick said, smiling. "Serah Pavus, wasn't it?"  
  
"The very same. Been out for an evening stroll, have you? Has Skyhold met with your approval?"  
  
"Mmm, it's quite an impressive holding," Carrick replied amiably. "I was curious, though; I've heard such things about the Inquisition's armies, but I don't see anything like that number here."  
  
"Ah, well, quite a lot of the forces are out in parts of Orlais or Ferelden, you know, hitting things with swords and related feats of daring-do. But when they're not actively out saving the world, the bulk of the forces are camped further down the mountain. I'm sure Evie would take you down to see them, if you're interested. She goes to inspect the troops with Commander Cullen a few times a week. If they hold true to pattern, they should be going in the morning."  
  
The clunk of a wooden door closing drew Dorian's attention for long enough he didn't see the look of annoyance flicker across Carrick's face. "She did mention showing me the stables tomorrow afternoon," he murmured, following the mage's gaze.  
  
It wasn't hard to see what had caught Dorian's attention; it was large, grey, and horned, and moving toward them. "Probably when she gets back, then," he offered vaguely.  
  
"Dorian!" Bull boomed as he approached. "You're not trying to seduce the Boss's fella already are you?"  
  
"Why?" Dorian's tone was acerbic. "Upset I got to him before you did?"  
  
Bull chuckled, falling into place beside the pair. "He's been here for a whole two days. If I was going to make a play, I'd have done it already." The qunari shifted his gaze to look down at Carrick, enjoying the way the other man's mask of superiority cracked slightly in the face of his leer. "No offense. You're just not my type."

To his credit, Carrick recovered quickly, offering a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Carrick Penavon. You must be Evelyn's qunari. A pleasure."  
  
The big man chuckled again, "I don't know if I must be hers, but I am at the moment. As long as the gold keeps flowing, right?"  
  
"Of course. No master but coin for The Iron Bull," Dorian scoffed. He'd heard from Krem that, while the band of mercenaries was still being paid regularly, The Bull himself hadn't taken a paycheck from the Inquisition since he'd broken ranks with the Qun.  
  
"Such is the life of the soldier, I suppose," Carrick supplied amiably. "I don't think I saw you at dinner, Serah Bull."  
  
"Tch. Just Bull is good. If you need to put something in front of it, go with 'The Iron'. Anyway, no. The Boss knows those formal occasions aren't really my thing, so she doesn't make me attend them." He shrugged, "At least, not anymore. Personally, I think the sight of me in formal wear just overwhelms her. Makes it hard to concentrate."  
  
Carrick blinked as he processed the implication. Ultimately, he decided to overlook it. "I can understand if you end up being the center of attention most places you go. You cut a rather imposing figure. How did you come to be working for the Inquisition?"  
  
"The Boss hired me. Or, hired us. Me and my team - The Bull's Chargers? We're pretty famous." He eyed Carrick for any sign of recognition. "No? Hmf. Well, anyway, I offered our services, the Boss accepted, and here we are."  
  
Carrick nodded. "I see. And you've stayed on, even though the bulk of the task is over?"  
  
"Well, like I said, there's still money being exchanged," Bull chuckled, ignoring Dorian's snort. "And there's still a lot of work to do, even without darkspawn magisters to deal with. Besides, I'm pretty sure the Boss would put up a fight if we tried to leave now. She seems bent on keeping all her kids in one place."  
  
"You'll have to forgive me for saying it, but I find it hard to believe Evelyn could for you to do anything," Carrick chuckled.  
  
"Ah, but you're assuming I don't like to be forced." Carrick blanched slightly as Bull waggled his eyebrows.  
  
"Fasta vass. Leave the man **alone** , you great lummox!"  
  
Carrick cleared his throat and tugged at his jacket. "I think perhaps it's time I retired, in any event. It seems I have an early appointment. Gentlemen." He offered the pair a brief bow before turning on his heel and marching off.  
  
Bull glanced down at Dorian, one eyebrow quirked. "Too far?"  
  
"You? Perish the thought!"  
  
The qunari smirked and looked after Carrick's retreating form. "I don't think I like that guy."  
  
Dorian made a face. "You don't like anyone. He seemed perfectly pleasant to me. If he actually _was_ going to marry Evie, I think I'd approve."  
  
Bull shook his head. "Nah. There's something about him. It's a Ben-Hass-"  
  
"Hassrath thing," Dorian finished, rolling his eyes again. "Of course it is. I've heard enough about that to last a lifetime." He turned to head back toward the tavern. "I'm going to bed."  
  
" _Your_ room is the other way."  
  
Dorian responded without turning around. "Oh, pay attention. I said I was going to bed, not to _sleep_."  
  
Bull considered this for a moment before, with a shrug, he turned to follow.


	9. Chapter 9

There was something about the hush of dawn in the courtyard that never failed to put a smile on Cullen's face. It was cold, true, and the air was dry, the morning mist swirling and quickly being burned away as the sun crested the peaks surrounding Skyhold. His breath puffed in clouds before his face as he worked. He could feel the cold nipping the tips of his nose and cheeks to a rosy red. His fingers were slightly stiff inside cold gauntlets.  
  
And, yet, he smiled, warmed from within at the knowledge Evie would be joining him shortly. Their regular rides to inspect the troops down the mountain were one of the few times they could enjoy each others' company without fear of interruption. And if it took them slightly longer than was strictly necessary to return to the keep, well, no one needed know, did they?  
  
(It was, of course, the worst kept secret in Skyhold that the Inquisitor and Commander concluded each such journey with a short layover to 'breakfast' in the small cottage near the encampment, the one ostensibly provided to house messengers; 'breakfast' being the term used in polite company.)  
  
Cullen was making minor adjustments to his horse's bridle when he heard the crunch of footsteps approaching the barn. "I was wondering if you were going to make it," he called over his shoulder. "I would have come to rouse you, but sometimes that proves to be ... counterproductive," he chuckled.  
  
"No doubt." Cullen started slightly when a distinctly male voice responded. "Not to mention difficult to explain, I'd imagine."  
  
The Commander took a bracing breath before turning around to face Carrick, who was making his way leisurely up the aisle. "Messere Penavon. Good morning. Is there something I can do for you?"  
  
One side of Carrick's mouth curled up at Cullen's strained tone. "I was supposed to find Evelyn down here. I take it she's not arrived yet?" He glanced into the adjacent stalls. "Odd. She said I should meet her down here first thing. She didn't mention you, though," he continued, looking lazily back toward Cullen and his mount. "What a pleasant surprise."  
  
Cullen couldn't help himself; he bristled slightly at the goading. "It sounds as though you've seen her more recently than I. Did she tell you she'd be down here? And now she isn't? I hope she isn't trying to lead you astray," he offered, still smiling beneath steely eyes.  
  
Carrick hesitated a moment, making a show of tilting his head to one side. "Perhaps," he said after a moment, smirk remaining in place. After a pause just long enough to be unsettling, the tall man began moving forward again, holding one palm out for Cullen's big grey destrier to sniff. "I suppose that leaves us to pass the time getting to know one another until she arrives, hmm? Do you know horses, Commander?"  
  
Cullen frowned slightly as Carrick started stroking the horse's muzzle. "Not as much as I'd like," he admitted. "I've learned a lot from Evie, though. She's amassed quite the collection here." He smiled fondly. "Well, of horses and other beasts."  
  
"I suppose that stands to reason, given her family's interests." Carrick lifted his gaze to meet Cullen's for a moment before running a hand down the horse's neck and shoulder. "She's been an accomplished equestrian since she was a little girl. I remember her on her first pony when we were children." He grinned at the memory, "Cubit, I think. It was brown."  
  
"She does seem to love them," Cullen replied. "Even the, er, more unusual ones," he added, picturing the murky bog ... _creature_ she kept in one of the more distant pastures.  
  
"She gets very attached to odd things," Carrick agreed, stepping back from the horse. Apparently he was satisfied with his inspection; he abandoned his perusal of the animal to lean against a stall, arms folded. "That's a lovely animal you have there, Commander. Quite suitable for a man of your station."  
  
Cullen cleared his throat and nodded, hesitant to let his guard down even though the other man seemed to be making an effort, however slight, to be cordial. "Thank you. Our horse master, Dennet, is quite particular about the stock we take in."

"Dennet," Carrick repeated, as though tasting the name. "Sounds Fereldan?"  
  
Cullen nodded. "He was the horse master for many years in Redcliffe. Well known for supplying the arl with the finest beasts in the country."  
  
"Of course. How ... fitting." Carrick brushed a bit of lint from the arm of his already-immaculate jacket. "My family is more interested in dogs. Did you ever hunt, back in Kirkwall? Or Ferelden?" His tone was carefully controlled in a way Cullen admired. Or might have, if it hadn't convinced him he _wasn't_ imagining the tinge of contempt he heard.  
  
"I can't say as I ever have," he returned evenly, pleased for the moment that the redness he felt creeping up his neck could be easily explained away as an effect of the cold. "My duties kept me rather busy in Kirkwall. There wasn't a lot of time for more ... frivolous pursuits."  
  
Carrick snorted, corners of his mouth curving up again. "How silly of me. I can only imagine how busy fighting a losing battle against apostates and blood mages keeps one." If he noticed Cullen's fist clench and unclench, he didn't show it. "My family's fennec hunting dogs are quite renowned in the Free Marches. You'd probably have heard of them if you mixed in those kinds of circles. It's one of the reasons the Trevelyans and Penavons have been linked for, oh, for ages untold, almost. Finely bred horses and dogs." He smiled, confident. "A match made by the Maker himself, hmm?"  
  
"I suppose," Cullen replied stiffly. "I'm afraid I'm more experience in dealing with _people_ than with animals. You know, the Inquisitor has been talking about acquiring some Mabari to work with the troops. Perhaps that's the sort of thing you might be able to help out with, while you're here. Visiting."  
  
" _Mabari?_ " Carrick crinkled his nose slightly. "I would have thought she'd outgrown her fascination with those by now." He pushed away from the stall and clasped his hands behind his back, and began a leisurely stroll back and forth across the aisle. "Perhaps I've arrived just in time, then."  
  
"Oh?" Cullen shifted his attention back to Carrick as the other man started to move; evidently watching the doorway and ardently hoping Evie would show herself wasn't working. Stifling a sigh, he shifted until he was leaning against the hitching post beside his horse. "Do tell."  
  
"Our kennel produces several litters of pups every year. Generally we try to breed to get a good quantity of them at a time; people like to acquire full packs at once, if they can. Raise them together, train them together. You know."  
  
Cullen nodded vaguely, though he knew nothing of the sort, letting his attention drift back to the stable's doors. Evelyn was usually quite punctual for their outings. It was one of the reasons they left so early in the morning - so she wouldn't have time to run into others and be distracted into dealing with other matters. Which _did_ beg the question how did Carrick find out... He frowned to himself, even as the other man continued speaking.  
  
"One summer, we tried introducing Orlesian blood into the mix. You have to introduce new lines, every now and then."  
  
"I can imagine," Cullen offered, barely bothering to conceal a smirk. "I've seen the terrible things inbreeding can do to otherwise noble pedigrees."  
  
A slight hitch in Carrick's steps was the only sign the Commander had landed a blow. "It's something that has to be done with great consideration," he continued, a bit of strain bleeding into the edges of his smooth tone. "My father had done his research to find a suitable match for our hound. It's a lengthy process, you see. These things are often decided some years before the actual breeding takes place.  
  
"Generally speaking, the pups produced were of decent quality. They needed some refinement, of course, but nothing that couldn't be worked on in successive generations. All except one." He cast his gaze back toward Cullen as he began another return trip across the stable aisle. "One seemed to have benefited from none of the sophistication of our female; it was all angles and brawn. More of a farm dog than a courser. An common little thing, really."

"As it happened, the litter was born shortly before the Trevelyans were visiting, on the way between their winter to summer homes. Evelyn was, oh, about 9 years old, I expect?" Carrick smiled indulgently. "I can only assume her tutor had just finished covering Ferelden geography and history when they'd arrived, because Evelyn took one look at the misshapen beast and pronounced it a Mabari." He turned an unpleasant grin on Cullen. "Can you imagine? The things silly little girls fancy. I suppose some things never change."  
  
Cullen set his jaw and returned the other man's gaze evenly. "The Inquisitor has a kind heart. It's one of her great strengths."  
  
"What a quaint notion," Carrick returned lightly. "She was set on taking the poor animal with them when they left. She even named it ... Ser Wuff, I think it was. Her father said no, of course; he has a fine pack of Penavon animals of his own, after all. I think her mother might have relented, though." He frowned thoughtfully. "Evelyn was the youngest, after all. She was, at times, overindulged because of it."  
  
In spite of himself, Cullen found his curiosity peaked as the specter of little Evie and her mighty 'Mabari' bounded through his mind's eye. " **Might** have relented?"  
  
"Mmm. After Evelyn'd been sent off to bed, my elder brother and I tied the pup in a sack and drowned it in the pond. My father's instructions. It was our usual job, for the pups that didn't measure up." Carrick came to a halt, finally, resting against a stall on the opposite side of the aisle. "When they departed the next morning, it was with the pick of the litter. A valuable lesson to learn so young, really. You can't risk polluting the entire line just because of one little girl's infatuation with some mongrel."  
  
The pair, who'd been so intent on her arrival before, didn't notice Evie when she appeared in the stable doorway and stopped to watch them as they regarded one another. After a confused moment, she cleared her throat and ventured a cheery, if uncertain, "Good morning!" Both men turned to look at her so sharply she couldn't help taking a half step back.  
  
Carrick recovered his composure first, breaking into a broad, warm smile. "Evelyn. There you are. We were just wondering where you'd gotten to. I'm afraid I showed up a bit early. I suppose I was just eager to get the full tour you promised; we'll be starting with the troops, then?"  
  
Evie worried her lower lip with her teeth and shot a confused look at Cullen - what _was_ he thinking, inviting Carrick on their ride? "I... yes. I suppose we will." The slight furrow on her forehead deepened at the way Cullen stiffened at her response. "Was the Commander helping you with a horse?"  
  
Cullen's sharp, "No," caught both of their attention; Evie looking increasingly puzzled and Carrick slightly amused. Cullen cleared his throat and continued rather more evenly, "No, I wasn't."  
  
"We were just getting to know one another," Carrick hurried on, before Evie could reply. "We hadn't quite gotten as far as a mount yet. Unless..." He turned back to Cullen and his horse, all gracious smiles and pleasant tones as he stepped forward to stroke the big grey's muzzle again. "Did you need to get back to your duties, Commander? I know a busy man like yourself doesn't have much time for these little frivolities we enjoy. And it will be my distinct pleasure to take care of your charge."  
  
Cullen had only to see the fond smile blossom on Evie's face at Carrick's handling of the animal to fuel his response. "It would be remiss of me to let you two travel unguarded," came his steely reply. "Let's find you a suitable mount, Messere. I'm not going anywhere."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, thank you so much for all the kudos and comments (which I can't keep up with, apparently, but am reading/enjoying/giggling over!). This is the first thing I've written in ages, and the first fanfic I've posted in even longer, and the fact people like it gives me the serious warm fuzzies. <3
> 
> Now for some good news/bad news/good news:  
> Good news: New chapter today!  
> Bad news: This is the last chapter I have to transfer from the kmeme, so the frequency of updates maaaay fall off a bit after this. I do try to update once a week, but life has been life-ing at me rather intensely the past few weeks, so I'm a bit behind.  
> Good news: The next chapter is almost ready to post in both places.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me, lovely readers. Your support means the world to me.
> 
> Now. Let's see if that Carrick gets his today.
> 
> \----

"Don't fret, Ruffles. They probably just lost track of time."  
  
Josephine's attention briefly flickered away from the rookery window. "The Inquisitor is always very punctual. Unless something is wrong. What if something is wrong? And when we have guests, too. Her family, no less! Maybe we should send a patrol."  
  
Varric relaxed back in his chair and slung one foot up on the table. With Leliana absent, there was no one to tell him to keep off the furniture - a fact he meant to take advantage of. "That still sounds like fretting." He held a hand up to ward off the Ambassador's retort. "Ruffles, really. I've spent a lot of time with her. She can handle herself. And if something did happen - not that it did," he sped on, seeing the retort threatening again, "then she's with Curly and that fiancé of hers. They're probably just taking their time today. Or maybe the fiancé is really interested in rocks or birdwatching or something. Marcher nobles are always interested in boring shit like that. I can't tell you how many 'Andraste may have sneezed here' plaques I've tripped on over the years."  
  
Josephine huffed and resumed her watch on the window. "I don't understand why she insists on going on these trips."  
  
Varric snorted. "Ruffles, you, me, and everyone else in this place knows why she and Curly go on 'these trips'."  
  
Josephine stifled a giggle. "Well, _yes_. But that doesn't explain why they've taken Lord Penavon with them."  
  
"No," Varric mused, stroking his chin. "No, that doesn't really fit, does it? Might make an interesting chapter for my book, though. Or maybe that would be better for the next episode of Swords and Shields. The guard captain and her beau meet a dashing stranger one night..."  
  
"Varric!" Josephine did her best to look scandalized, even as a grin teased her lips. "What are you doing up here anyway?"  
  
"Well, I _was_ sending a letter. Now?" He grinned. "I'm watching you fret."  
  
"Hmpf. I am not fretting," Josie grumbled, turning to look out the window once again. "I am merely _concerned_ for the Inquisitor's safety. And her schedule. And ... oh." She trailed off, frowning at whatever had caught her attention in the courtyard below.  
  
Intrigued, Varric hustled to his feet and made his way to the window. Far below them, the party was returning; Cullen and Carrick astride their mounts, and Evelyn leading her own limping beast. Even from a distance, the Inquisitor's foul mood was plain to see in her stiff shoulders and rigid gait; it wasn't difficult to guess why Cullen and Carrick were lagging behind.  
  
Varric gave a low whistle. "It might be time to fret now."

\----

Cullen was managing not to pace outside the stable, but it was a near thing. His fists clenched and unclenched while his jaw did likewise. He shifted his weight foot to foot whenever he realized one foot was tapping. He crossed his arms only to uncross them again. Evelyn and Dennet's voices drifted out from within, frustratingly muffled. Evie's tone, at least, still sounded agitated, while Dennet's voice seemed reassuring, if annoyed. His gaze flitted over to Carrick for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time he had to fight the urge to knock the self-satisfied smirk off the other man's face. Oh, he'd been concerned and upset when Evie's horse had pulled up lame, eager to offer her his own mount, to console, to subtly shift the blame for the accident away from himself. Since they'd been back, though - since Evie'd chosen to walk in front of them and she couldn't see his face, actually - he'd had the air of someone pleased with a job well done.  
  
_A man pleased with a job well done, and looking for a boot up the-_ Cullen was startled out of his glowering when Evie emerged abruptly from the stable doorway. He scrambled to follow, noting with no small amount of annoyance that Carrick moved to follow as well (and did so a great deal more gracefully). "Inquisitor!" It was disheartening when Evie didn't slow.  
  
"Dennet says it's not that bad a strain," she said stiffly, keeping her eyes forward. "He'll need a couple of weeks of rest, but he should recover fully."  
  
"Thank the Maker." The reply came in stereo, and Carrick and Cullen shot each other a look behind Evelyn's back as they trailed after her.  
  
Cullen took a few quick steps to pull ahead. "I'm pleased he'll recover. I know how much you care for him," he offered hopefully.  
  
"Yes," Carrick put in, lengthening his stride to match, "for a Fereldan mount, he's quite a decent creature. I can imagine it would be quite an adjustment to have to replace him."  
  
Evie only grunted in response; she had yet to slow her pace and Cullen found himself hurrying to keep up. Even so, he couldn't help shooting a caustic look at Carrick. "If you'd had such concerns earlier, we wouldn't have had to worry about that," he snapped.  
  
Carrick, matching his strides, wasted no time in firing back. "If you'd made your shortcomings as a horseman clearer, I would have known to give you a wide berth."  
  
Glaring at one another as they were, both men found themselves stumbling to keep from walking into the back of the Inquisitor when she skidded to a halt at the foot of the stairs to the kitchen. They both straightened as she whirled on them, fists clenched at her sides. "If I'd known the _both_ of you would be acting like ridiculous children the whole time, I'd have gone by myself," she snarled, shifting her crackling gaze back and forth between the pair.  
  
"As it is, you're fortunate Dennet knows his business so well. Now if you'll excuse me, I have grown up things to do." With a final glare, she spun on her heel again and stomped up the steps, leaving the rebuked men gazing at the spot where she'd been standing moments before.  
  
Cullen could feel the flush creeping up his neck even before Evie'd slammed the kitchen door behind her. Of course, she was right. They'd behaved appallingly, and while that might be expected of _Carrick_ , he certainly shouldn't have risen to the bait. He should go after her, shouldn't he? To apologize. Whatever the provocation, it hadn't warranted getting drawn into an ill-advised race with Carrick over icy terrain; of _course_ that wasn't going to end well. The more he replayed the incident in his head, the more ashamed he felt. No wonder Evie was furious. Before he could take a step up the stairs, however, his attention was caught by Carrick.  
  
Chuckling.

His gaze shot toward the other man who was, indeed, smiling. In fact, Carrick seemed clearly amused by the display, beaming after Evie like a proud parent. "Well. She is a little firecracker, isn't she?" he mused, sharing a rather conspiratorial grin with Cullen. "Lovely when she's angry, though, certainly. I like that. I thank you for your assistance, Commander. This morning has gone swimmingly."  
  
Cullen stared, incredulous. "What in the Void are you on about? She's furious, and rightly so. She could have been injured when her horse bolted like that! You and your ridiculous need to try to prove something ... it's a lucky thing that the horse was the only one hurt."  
  
Looking even more amused, Carrick barked a laugh. "Me? Trying to prove something? I think you'd best examine your own motivations, serah. You agreed readily enough to the challenge when it was issued. If you knew you weren't up to it beforehand; well, I can understand why you feel guilty now. But **I** don't have to prove anything to her. She's already betrothed to me." He examined his fingernails before dusting them across the chest of his jacket. "But, by all means, continue making yourself look like an ass in front of her. I was perfectly happy just to insist on the terms of our arrangement being upheld, but now I think it will be so much more gratifying when she comes to me willingly." He offered Cullen a venomous smile. "I believe it's time I updated my future mother-in-law on the morning's events. I'm sure you have some ... papers or something to attend to." He offered a half bow, still smirking, before turning to walk away. "A pleasure, as always, Commander."  
  
The only thought Cullen could muster, as he watched the haughty noble depart, was that the courtyard had entirely too many witnesses. Too many people who'd notice if he throttled the other man right there, on the steps, no matter how dearly he wanted to. And, even then, it would be _so satisfying_ to just wrap his clenching fists around the other man's throat and-  
  
"Careful, Curly. You're gonna start a grass fire with that look."  
  
Cullen started at the voice beside him, but his gaze never left his fleeing quarry. "Varric. Now isn't a good time," he managed, stiffly.  
  
As it happened, there was no need to look down; he could hear the wry grin well enough in Varric's voice. "I dunno about that; looks like about the right time to keep you from doing something you'll regret." The dwarf's exaggerated bow was just visible in Cullen's peripheral vision. "I humbly offer my services in that respect."

There were a few moments of silence, before Cullen ground out, "That man. Is _evil_."  
  
Varric followed Cullen's line of sight, though he found they were just staring at the courtyard now, Carrick having disappeared from view. "Well shit, Curly, he came to marry your girl. I don't think anyone expected you to like him."  
  
"It's not that!" Cullen snapped, glaring down at Varric a moment before recognizing the foolishness of the statement. He huffed a mighty sigh, he continued, "Well, of course it is that, partly. But, truly, he is a horrible person. He risked Evelyn's life on our ride just to show me up."  
  
"Yeeeeah," Varric allowed. It didn't seem prudent to point out he - along with most of the rest of the immediate area - had heard the Inquisitor's dressing down of the pair. "He does seem like a bit of ... well ... to be honest, he seems like a lot of Marcher nobles, to me. I'm not saying you should give him a break or anything," he added quickly. "Just. Y'know. Doing something stupid to impress a girl ... I mean, we've all been there, haven't we?"  
  
Reading Varric's expression brought a new flush to Cullen's neck as he continued, "And that's hardly all. He talks about her like she's ... like she's chattel! As if he just plans to pack her up and take her home, with no regard for her duties here. He has no respect for the work of the Inquisition, and even less for her. And he's plotting against us with her mother. He even murdered her puppy!"  
  
"... uh huh." Varric was starting to question his decision to step in; at the very least, leaving Bianca in his room was starting to seem like a bad idea when faced with the slightly deranged-looking former Templar. He glanced around subtly; enough to assure himself that they were, indeed, drawing some looks. "You know, Curly, I bet you'd feel better if you got all of this off your chest. What's say we head down to the wine cellar, see what Glowworm's brought back from her recent travels?"  
  
Cullen shook his head, making to step forward again. "No. No, I must go to her and explain. Apologize. She needs to _see_ what he is and-" He stopped, blinking and looking down as Varric blocked his way.  
  
"Trust me, Curly. I've dealt with my share of angry women over the years. You know how Hawke is when she goes off, right?" He nodded slowly, encouraging Cullen to do the same. "Giving her Inquisitorialness an hour or two to cool off is your best bet, here." _Might also give you time to stop ranting_ , Varric thought to himself. "Come on. Let's get a drink and..." _Calm down? Stop acting like a lunatic?_ "and you can tell me all about it." He shrugged amiably. "The book could use a new villain."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, I am slowly refining the next chapter, but it's getting longer and longer, and it occurred to me the first lil' bit can stand on its own. So I present this mini-chapter as a tide-me-over. *passes out the biscotti*
> 
> \-----

Several hours later, both more upset and less intoxicated than Varric strictly would have liked, Cullen was leaving the wine cellar. He'd explained - at great length - the various evils he felt Carrick represented and, while the tale was compelling, the dwarf was still having trouble reconciling the _generally_ pleasant (for a noble) Penavon and Cullen's vision of a scheming villain. Sure, the guy seemed like a pompous ass. But they all seemed like pompous asses to him.  
  
Varric sighed and raked a hand through his hair. _Maybe I should talk to Glowworm about it..._  
  
"In a hurry, Commander?" Dorian's vaguely affronted voice drifted in from the hallway. When he received no reply, the Tevinter huffed, "Oh, did I bump into you, Dorian. I am sorry! No trouble at all, my good man." Still grumbling, the mage appeared around the corner, clomping toward the wine cellar door.  
  
Varric chuckled at the expression on his face. "Don't mind Curly. He's having a rough day."  
  
"Yes, well, he should mind where he throws those shoulders of his, impressive though they are. Particularly when he's careening into those of us who could respond by setting his hair on fire," Dorian harrumphed. "What's the matter with him, anyway?"  
  
Varric waved a hand vaguely. "Oh, girl trouble. Or boy trouble." The dwarf paused, frowning thoughtfully. "I think the second one is technically more correct, but it doesn't sound quite right."  
  
"Much more interesting, though," Dorian replied with a wry grin. "Evie's visitors getting to him?"  
  
"Ehn ... he hates the guy, no surprise there. But it seems to go beyond that. He spent the past couple of hours telling me all sorts of crazy shit." Varric rubbed his neck, uncomfortable. "It all sounded a little paranoid to me."  
  
Dorian frowned, looking down the hallway in the direction Cullen had gone. "Paranoid? He can't really feel he has anything to worry about where Evie's concerned, can he? They're so ridiculously adorable together, I'm fairly certain I've seen actual lovebirds look down their beaks at them in disgust."  
  
Varric chuckled. "I don't think it's so much her he's worried about as it is the new guy. Them not liking each other is a given, but he seems to think he's up against some kind of evil mastermind."  
  
"Hmm." Dorian folded his arms and leaned against the wine cellar doorway. "Far be it from me to encourage the Commander's paranoid delusions..." he began thoughtfully.  
  
"... but?"  
  
"Well, this Penavon seemed like a decent enough chap to me; not who I'd choose for Evie, mind you, but inoffensive enough, as far as Southerners go. But Bull seemed to think he was up to something, too." Dorian looked down at the other man. "I didn't really talk to him all that long, I suppose. What did _you_ think of him?"  
  
Varric grunted. "Shit, I don't know. He reminds me a lot of the puffed up, pampered bores Hawke's mother used to try to set her up with. They were generally too stupid to be masterminds, though, evil or otherwise."  
  
Dorian's mouth curled in amusement. "Why, Varric, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous. Did you have your eye on the high and mighty Champion as well?"

"Hmpf. My relationship with Hawke can't be circumscribed by your feeble terminology," he sniffed, "And anyway, we're talking about Glowworm and Curly. And the new guy."  
  
Dorian continued grinning for a moment before offering a nod. "Yes, yes. Of course we are." His grin faded a little as he pondered the situation. "Well, I don't know. As I said, _I_ thought he was all right, but Bull claims he has some special insight, thanks to his exalted Qunari spy training. And I saw Blackwall and Penavon sniping at one another, too ... although that's hardly a stinging indictment. Blackwall snipes at everyone."  
  
"I know Josephine thought he was charming enough. I heard her telling Vivienne that he was _so handsome_ ," Varric said, clasping his hands together and assuming a brief (and terrible) falsetto. "Cassandra seemed less disgusted than usual, too."  
  
"Quite the conundrum, our mystery man," Dorian mused. "Evie didn't give any indication to me that he'd have nefarious intent. Beyond separating her from her smalls, perhaps."  
  
"Augh. Great. There's a mental image I'm gonna be stuck with all day," Varric grumbled, rubbing his eyes.  
  
"Please. As if you've never pictured her in her sm-"  
  
Varric cut across him with a grimace. " **Anyway** , I still think Curly is overreacting, but if other people see it, too... it might be worth looking into. Maybe we could do a little digging around?"  
  
Dorian clutched a hand to his chest and gasped dramatically. "Why, Ser Tethras, are you suggesting we collude to spy on our noble guest? Whatever will people say?"  
  
"Welllll," Varric began, taking a slow step into the hallway to move past the taller man, "if you're not interested, I'm sure I can find someone else who wants t-"  
  
Dorian promptly blocked the way. "Where do we start?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mother and daughter heart-to-heart.

"The Inquisitor does not wish to be disturbed this afternoon," was the official word from Josephine once she'd departed Evelyn's tower room after dropping off a stack of correspondence that needed answering. It spread quickly throughout Skyhold, mingling with similar sentiments from the Commander's office as both messages swirled around the keep's hallways and courtyards. The more experienced pages exchanged the news with a wink and a grin; as the eyes and ears of Skyhold, they were no strangers to such messages from the Inquisitor and Commander arriving at the same time.  
  
As it happened, however, their gossip was off the mark that afternoon. Evelyn did, indeed, spend several hours hunched over her desk, composing carefully worded missives to dispatch to various allies, would-be supporters, and would-be rivals. It was tedious work for the most part. Josephine still made a point of vetting each letter before it was sent, "Just in case," as she said, but over the year she'd been at the helm of the Inquisition, Evelyn had learned much more than she'd ever wanted to about the intricacies of brokering peace and delivering veiled threats through the use of a pen.  
  
The light filtering through the room's large windows had taken on a pinkish hue when she finally pushed her chair back - a movement to which her shoulders and neck quickly objected. She groaned softly as she stretched. "I really must remember to get up every now and then," she mumbled, massaging complaining muscles with one hand as she neatened her stack of completed letters with the other. The fact that she found the task of drafting the letters so engrossing surprised no one more than it did herself. Something in the blood, she supposed. Her mother was certainly no stranger to the art of diplomacy, albeit more on the scale of whom to invite to which party. Evie chuckled to herself as she rose from her seat; perhaps there was something to this 'being a Trevelyan' after all.  
  
Of course, she mused idly as she stepped out onto the balcony to watch the sunset, no small amount of her fervor this afternoon had been driven by annoyance. It was a relief to hear that her favorite mount wasn't seriously injured, but that news hadn't particularly dampened her frustration with the two men who'd accompanied her on the ride. Carrick, for suggesting they race in the first place, and Cullen, for accepting. More so Cullen, she thought, rubbing weary eyes with the heel of her palms, because he knew better. Carrick - at least the Carrick she remembered from her youth - was given to fits of impulsiveness, and used to being absolved of the result by virtue of his station. But Cullen was ... sturdy. Reliable. Pragmatic. What _had_ he been thinking. He couldn't have invited the other man along with the sole purpose of showing off, surely? There was no reason to-  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by a rap on the door to her chamber, and she found herself frowning. She leaned back through the balcony door as she heard the heavy wooden door at the foot of the stairs open and close. "I'm still quite busy," she called, aware that she sounded brusque and not caring. She'd been _enjoying_ the peace and quiet.  
  
"That's what your Ambassador told me." Adele Trevelyan's cool, clear voice floated up the stairs ahead of her. "I informed her that my daughter was never too busy to see her mother." She smoothed the crinkles from her pale green gown as she crested the top of the steps. "I certainly hope I wasn't mistaken."

Evie offered a tired but warm smile and gestured to one of the sofas. "Of course not, Mother. Please, come and sit with me." She trailed after her mother as the older woman settled daintily onto a chaise. Adele Trevelyan's austere beauty had diminished little with the passing years; though her auburn hair was threaded with grey, her skin was as porcelain and her pale blue eyes as bright as they'd ever been. Evie felt a pang of jealousy as she sunk onto the couch beside her - somehow her mother always ended up perfectly positioned, dress smooth, hands neatly folded. Evelyn looked down at her own tunic - several buttons undone, wrinkled, sporting a smudge of mustard from the lunch Josie'd brought her, and sighed inwardly. While Evie and her older sister had both been subject to their mother's tutelage in social matters, it was Anthea - the 'important' one when it came to marrying off - who had been the focus. Evie'd always felt this was just as well, considering Thea had also benefited from their mother's good looks and natural grace, but there were times when she wondered what it might be like to be a bit more poised in a dress than in armor, or wielding a teacup instead of a dagger.  
  
"So this is where you've been hiding yourself all afternoon, is it?" her mother asked, smiling and looking around. "Lady Montilyet said you were doing paperwork. At least the light up here is good." Her gaze came to rest on her youngest child again and she reached out to tuck back a lock of Evelyn's hair that had escaped its messy bun. "I hope you aren't ruining your eyes."  
  
Evie rolled the aforementioned eyes and chuckled. "My eyes are fine, Mother. I'm very fortunate in that Josie takes care of most of the correspondence, anyway." She gestured toward the desk. "Just odds and ends that needed my personal attention."  
  
The elder Trevelyan smiled fondly, proudly. "You know, I expected that, when we sent you off to the Conclave, you'd come back different, but this..." She gestured at the room vaguely. "Evelyn, this is truly remarkable. I do hope my little girl is still under there, somewhere, though?"  
  
"Of course, Mother," Evie returned warmly. "A lot has changed, but some things never do."  
  
Her mother squeezed her hand and smiled. "I'm glad. I've missed you terribly, and I've been so worried. I'll be very glad when you're home in the Marches."  
  
Evie stiffened slightly and covered her mother's hand with her own. "Mother," she began gently, "I know we've had certain ... plans, but things are, well, they're just different now. Surely you can understand that. You've seen what we're doing here."  
  
A slight frown creased Adele's face. "But ... you can't possibly mean to stay here _forever_? Sooner or later this Inquisition will end, like the last one did."  
  
"That's true," Evie said, bobbing her head in agreement. "When the time is right, we'll be able to hand over our responsibilities off to ... whoever comes next," she continued with a shrug. "But that's still a long way off, and we don't know what it will look like when it gets here."  
  
"I see. I suppose that's fair, but ... well, you have responsibilities, darling."  
  
Evelyn nodded, pleased to have her mother's understanding. "I do. I don't claim to be solely responsible for, well, for anything, really. The work we've done here has been a team effort; I may be the Inquisitor, but it's the Inquisition that's the important part. Nevertheless, I have a responsibility to see this through to ... whatever the end is."  
  
Adele looked blank for a moment before shaking her head. "No. No, darling, I meant your responsibilities _at home_. Carrick came to speak with me earlier. He's concerned. He said you were out of sorts."  
  
"Out of sorts?" Evie snorted. "Well, it's nice to know he at least noticed I was upset," she said dryly. "I don't suppose he mentioned why I was upset with him?"  
  
"Well, he did mention something about you being set off by some little incident or other. He was concerned that the stress of all this," Adele said, gesturing vaguely, "might have gotten to you."

Evie rolled her eyes. "The only thing I found stressful was him and Cullen acting the fools when we were riding back from the army camp. One of my best horses was injured because of the two of them, and it's a lucky thing I wasn't as well. You can see why he glossed over that part, I'm sure."  
  
"He always _was_ a spirited boy." Adele's tone was dismissive, "You used to get into all sorts of trouble when you were younger. And I know he's very excited to spend time with you."  
  
" _Hamlin_ used to get into all sorts of trouble with him when we were younger. I was usually just collateral damage," Evie grumbled, "and, anyway, 'spirited' doesn't excuse his behaving like an ass."  
  
"Evelyn-"  
  
"No, really, Mother," she continued, warming to the subject, "why did you bring him with you? And what did you promise him on the way here? Because he seems to think we'll be heading off to the chantry any day now, and then I'll be following him home to Markham to plan garden parties and masked balls."  
  
Adele sighed. "Well, admittedly, I think some of the notions we had on the way here were ... optimistic," she conceded. "You seem very engrossed in what you're doing here." She ignored her daughter's frown as she continued, "There's no reason you can't involve him, though. The Penavons are well-connected in the Marches. I was concerned we might have to delay the wedding, but I really think he'd be an asset to you; there's no reason for you not to have him here with you."  
  
Evelyn sighed mightily. It was time to come clean. "... Mother. There is a reason," she began uncertainly. "I didn't want to tell you ... or, well, no, I _did_ want to tell you, I just wasn't sure how to go about it, afer you brought him along and everything... But we haven't seen each other in so long, and he's ... I mean, he's not exactly who I've pictured spending my life with..."  
  
Her mother eyed her for a moment, lips slightly pursed, appraising. "Evelyn. If you don't want to marry him, I'm not going to force you."  
  
It took several beats for Evelyn's mind to process the words, and she stared dumbly at her hands for a moment before her gaze snapped up to meet her mother's. "I ... what?"  
  
Adele sighed again and adjusted her already-smooth skirt. "Evelyn. Sweetheart," she began, reaching out to clasp her daughter's hands. "When you were little - the youngest of four, with one daughter ahead of you - well, we didn't have all that many options when it came to striking a match for you. That's not a reflection on you, of course, my dear," she said, squeezing Evie's hands, "it's just the way of things. You know how these things work."  
  
Hope started to blossom in Evelyn's heart. This was all going better than she'd ever-  
  
"But that's all changed now," her mother continued, smiling warmly. "The _Inquisitor_. I mean, you can have your pick of any noble in the Marches. Maker, probably any noble in Thedas! I hear the Prince of Starkhaven is still single, actually. Evelyn, **Princess** of Starkhaven." Adele sighed dreamily. "Can you imagine?"

Evie simply stared. Her mouth drooped open slightly as she watched her mother's eyes unfocus; no doubt the elder Trevelyan was envisioning a flower and lace festooned royal wedding with her daughter at the center. It made sense, she supposed, that from her mother's perspective, this was a more wonderful turn of events than she could ever have imagined. The fourth child, the difficult-to-match daughter, raising her prospects immeasurably. It was a chance most noblewomen probably only entertained in their daydreams and, for her mother, it was coming true. Which made what Evie had to do all the more difficult, and all the more necessary.  
  
"Mother. I'm with Cullen."  
  
Her mother blinked, snapping back to the present with a quizzical look. "Pardon?"  
  
Evelyn sighed, not quite able to bring herself to meet her mother's gaze. "Cullen and I have been together for some time. It's what I've been trying to tell you." She braced herself for the inevitable outrage, or disappointment. The raised voice, the look of disgust. The immediate planning for how to put things right.  
  
Which is why the dismissive cluck and waved hand caught her off guard.  
  
"Please, Evelyn. That's hardly news."  
  
Evie jerked her hands back from her mother's grasp, eyes wide. "What? You _knew_???"  
  
Anyone who'd seen Adele roll her eyes would understand where Evelyn had gotten the trait from. "Evelyn, contrary to what you seem to believe, I'm not a fool. The way you two make eyes at each other, you might as well have had the crier announce it at dinner."  
  
"I ... wait, does _everyone_ know, then?" Evie felt a stirring of panic. "Father? Carrick??"  
  
This time her rolling eyes were accompanied by a slightly less-than-ladylike snort. "That sort of thing isn't your father's strong suit, Evelyn," Adele chuckled. She offered a half shrug, "Carrick hasn't given any indication he's noticed, either. I suppose it's more of a female aptitude. Certainly a _mother's_ ability, anyway."  
  
"I ... what ..." Evie spluttered, "if you **know** already, then why are we talking about marrying Carrick or the Prince of flaming Starkhaven??"  
  
Adele's forehead furrowed. "I'm not sure I see what one has to do with the other, darling. We're talking about the future."  
  
"Yes," Evelyn said, making an effort to control her voice, "and my _future_ is with _Cullen_."

It was her mother's turn to stare. "Evelyn Anabel Trevelyan. Don't be ridiculous."  
  
"I am **not** being ridiculous." Evie took a deep breath, aware that her control was precarious and that a shouting match was not the right way to have this conversation. "I am being honest. I'm not going to marry Carrick, or anyone else, other than Cullen."  
  
Adele sighed. "Evelyn. Setting aside the fact that this man hasn't spoken to your father, or myself, or anyone else in our family, has he actually asked for your hand?"  
  
Evie opened her mouth to retort quickly, but hesitated as she considered it. "Well, not in so many words ..."  
  
"Oh, Evelyn..."  
  
"But we **have** discussed it! The future, I mean. Just because he hasn't actually proposed doesn't mean anything. Maker's breath, we weren't even sure we were going to live through the conflict with Corypheus until a month or two ago! Planning a wedding hasn't exactly been at the forefront of our minds lately."  
  
Adele sighed again, rubbing her eyes. "Evelyn," she said gently, "oh, sweetheart, I knew you were a bit ... sheltered, when we sent you off to the Conclave, but I didn't think... I apologize, darling. I should have given you more guidance."  
  
"What are you talking about, Mother?"  
  
"Men, Evelyn. It's hardly unheard of for them to promise all sorts of things, if it results in them getting what they want."  
  
Evelyn cheeks flamed. "Mother! Cullen is **not** like that! And, anyway, I'm not some feeble maiden to be led astray." She tugged her sleeve back from her wrist and let the Mark flare for a moment. "Inquistior. Herald of Andraste. Killing demons. Remember?"  
  
Her mother's posture stiffened slightly at the green glow emanating from Evie's hand. "Evelyn," she began steadily, slowly tearing her gaze away from the Mark to meet Evie's, "I don't mind that you've had some ... dalliances; I had my own flirtations before I married your father." She ignored the vaguely disturbed expression on her daughter's face as she continued, "But you need to be able to recognize them for what they are. These ..." she waved a hand vaguely, "these war camp liaisons aren't unheard of, certainly, but they aren't something to hang your future on."  
  
She took Evie's hands in her own again and smiled gently. "Darling. It may not sound like it to you, but I have your best interests at heart. You have a bright future ahead of you; you always did, what with working with the Trevelyan stable, or being our liaison to the Chantry. A meaningful future. And now, with all of this, it's ... well, Maker, it's beyond anything I could ever have imagined. You're conducting affairs of state. You seem poised to have direct influence on the Chantry, on the Circles, on the Divine herself. You need someone with you who understands all of that; who was raised understanding all of that. Someone else ... well, they'd be a liability, darling. You'd be holding yourself back. I don't want to see you throw your future away on someone who's not suitable. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"You barely know Cullen!" Evie bristled, snatching her hands back. "If this grand future is **my** future, shouldn't it be up to me who I spend it with? Shouldn't I be the one who decides whether or not he's suitable for me?"  
  
Adele sighed and squared her shoulders. "All right, Evelyn. If you won't consider your own best interests, then would you perhaps consider his?"  
  
Evie was aware her frown was petulant, but it didn't stop her from replying waspishly, "And what is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"As I have tried to remind you several times, you have social responsibilities as a Trevelyan. Maker's breath, as the _Inquisitor_ you have more than you ever would have, even if you were next in line to be Bann. And, if you marry, 'your future', as you put it isn't just yours; you'll be sharing it with someone else. Are you sure that's the kind of future your Cullen is interested in?"  
  
"I ... he's done well enough so far," Evie said, cringing internally at the uncertainty in her own voice. "He is Commander of the entire army, after all, and he was instrumental in defeating Corypheus. He isn't exactly a shrinking violet, nor did I find him plowing a field."  
  
"Yes," her mother replied evenly, "and yet I saw how he was at the welcoming banquet. He stuck out like a sore thumb and looked about as comfortable. And, more than that, he knew it. You may think he'll be willing to put up with those kinds of functions for the rest of his days - and maybe he would be - but would he ever enjoy them? The Inquisition won't have a standing military forever. What will he want to do after that? Attend balls and state dinners as consort to the Herald of Andraste, or ... something else?"  
  
Evie looked at her hands, picturing Cullen on the dock near Honnleath; recalling the idle conversations they'd had about building a cottage by the sea. That Cullen stood in sharp contrast to the harassed visitor to Val Royeaux and the blushing, awkward dinner guest. She didn't need to ask him which he preferred; no one would.  
  
Adele watched her youngest's forehead crinkle in thought and, after a few moments of silence, she rose. "Sometimes loving someone means sacrificing what we want to do what's right for them," she offered gently. "I know there's a lot resting on your shoulders, darling. Just ... make sure you're considering _everything_ with a clear head." She leaned forward to place a light kiss on the top of Evelyn's head before heading gracefully toward the stairs. "I'll mention to Ambassador Montilyet that you're still busy."  
  
Evelyn was still staring, unseeing, at her hands when the chamber door gently clicked shut.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hijinks and banter. Ruh-roh.

"Perhaps you should go over by yourself."  
  
"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet, Sparkler?"  
  
"My feet are _always_ cold in this Maker-forsaken country, but that's beside the point. I just think you might have better success recruiting her without me, considering her ... company."  
  
The pair looked across the courtyard in tandem. The late afternoon sun had warmed the enclosed space, and the cozy, pinkish glow illuminated Fenris and Hawke; the former quietly reading aloud from a book, and the latter lying in the grass with her head in his lap.  
  
"Awww, don't be afraid of Broody," Varric chided. "His bark is worse than his ... well, no, his bite is pretty bad, too. But he'll never get used to you if you avoid him."  
  
"That's easy for you to say," Dorian huffed.  
  
"Just come on." Varric started across the lawn, considering how best to get the mage to follow. "We can't do this without you." He grinned to himself when he heard another huff and the sound of footsteps trailing behind him.  
  
***  
  
"You want me to what?" Hawke - who'd declined to sit up when approached - stared up at the pair, forehead furrowed but lyrium-blue eyes twinkling.  
  
"It's just a little recon," Varric said, adding with a little shrug, "Consider it 'for the good of the Inquisition'."  
  
Fenris snorted. "That seems a rather broad interpretation. Breaking and entering for the greater good?"  
  
"To be fair, that _does_ describe a fair amount of our work history," Hawke supplied with a wry grin. "What is it you're hoping to find, exactly?"  
  
"Ideally? Some sort of manifesto outlining his dastardly plans," Dorian quipped. "But we'll take what we can get."  
  
"It's a part of a bigger operation," Varric continued. "You know how I like to work things. Cast a lot of lines, catch a lot of fish."  
  
"Aaand you're asking me because?" Hawke finally pushed herself to sit up. "Not that I'm not flattered to be involved, of course, but I've seen Varric open a lock while firing on a stampeding ogre and jotting notes for his next chapter. You hardly need me for this."  
  
"Ah, well, there's the thing, Waffles," Varric said, exchanging a look with Dorian. "Penavon's room is right in the midst of the whole Ostwick contingent's wing. And, given that it's her Inquisatorialness's family and all, it's sort of heavily guarded..."  
  
Fenris arched an eyebrow. "Hawke's skill aside, I imagine someone would notice a large number of missing guards," he rumbled.  
  
"We thought so, too," Dorian replied.  
  
"That's why Waffles is going to climb down from the roof."  
  
Fenris's protest was cut off as Hawke sprang to her feet, grinning broadly. "Well, as long as you've thought it through carefully. When do we get started?"  
  
Varric grinned. "We just saw the group of them heading to the dining room for dinner. Now seems like as good a time as any."  
  
Hawke nodded, adjusting a few straps on her leathers. "Perfect. Ladders?"  
  
"Nah." Varric shook his head. "But there's an overhang from the mage tower that should be the right height for you to get up there. Then it's just across the roof by the garden. Easy as pie."  
  
"Excellent." Hawke clapped her hands and rubbed them together, eager. "Right. Varric, you're on the roof with me. Fenris, you and Dorian can be on lookout duty in the garden."  
  
Fenris bristled. "Together? Hawke, I-"  
  
Hawke pursed her lips and gave him a look. "One person lurking about in the dark, missing dinner, is suspicious. Two people _chatting_ when they've bumped into one another isn't." At his continued glowering, she added, "Oh, come off it. You know plenty of mages you like." A brief flustered, choking noise from the elf was the only response she allowed before rolling her eyes. "Well, just pretend he's Bethany, then."  
  
Watching how quickly the shift from lazing in the grass to sparking with excitement had occurred was almost disorienting for the mage, but this last bit caught his attention. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
Hawke wasted no time in rounding on him. "What, are you saying you're too good to be my sister?"  
  
Dorian blinked in confusion. "I ... no, I suppose not."  
  
The rogue brightened again immediately. "Fantastic! You two get set up and we'll signal you when we start." She extended an arm to Varric. "Serrah Tethras. Shall we?"  
  
Varric gave a debonair bow. "My lady, I would be honored."  
  
Dorian and Fenris stared after them as they sauntered away; the former with bemused humor and the latter, annoyed compliance. It was Dorian who broke the silence.  
  
"That is quite a woman."  
  
Fenris grunted his assent. "On that, we are agreed."  
  
***  
  
Twilight was progressing toward full dark when the mage and elf found themselves trying to look relaxed but still be watchful in the garden. Varric had given them the thumbs up from the balcony a while ago, and they'd spotted Hawke's shadowy form slinking across the roof a few moments later. Thus far, no one had appeared to go up the stairs, and no shouting had erupted from within the guest wing, so presumably things were going according to plan.  
  
Not that either man was particularly comfortable with his role.  
  
"So," Dorian began, "do you ever think of going back to Minrathous?"  
  
Fenris snorted and turned an incredulous glare on the other man. "To what end?"  
  
Dorian shrugged. "I don't know. A killing spree?" he returned testily.  "You must miss it a little; it is home, after all, is it not?"  
  
"You and I must have very different definitions of 'home', mage."  
  
***  
  
"Are you sure this is the one?" Hawke hissed, suspended from the roof by her rope, looking up toward the dwarf keeping watch on the other end. "It's very dark in there."  
  
"That's a good sign, Waffles. Means no one's home."  
  
Hawke peered in the window dubiously. "Or something _lewd_ is going on..."  
  
"I'd call that a win-win situation."  
  
"That's because you're not about to see pasty noble buttocks."  
  
***  
  
"All right. If Minrathous isn't home to you, where is?"  
  
Fenris folded his arms and leaned against a column. "I couldn't say. I don't remember the time before I was a slave, thanks to the work of your countrymen."  
  
Dorian frowned at the other man's markings. "What was done to you was barbaric. All blood magic is. I doubt it makes any difference to you, but I'm sorry."  
  
Fenris gave him an appraising look. "You're right. It doesn't make any difference to me."  
  
" _Fasta vass_. You're really determined to make this as difficult as possible, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
***  
  
Hawke's head appeared through the window. "Varric?"  
  
"Problem?"  
  
"Do you think anyone'd mind if I took these ripped trousers? It's just, I left my whole collection back in Kirkwall..."  
  
"No, Waffles. I don't think they'd mind."  
  
***  
  
"Have you ever considered that, if you were to return to Tevinter, you could make a positive difference? Be part of change for the future?"  
  
Fenris gave a derisive snort. "If you're so eager to change things, why are you still here? No one's waiting to conscript you back into slavery."  
  
Dorian frowned, thoughtful. "Up until a short while ago, I wasn't certain that was true. I wish I could believe it was, now."  
  
The elf, still scowling, shot him a questioning look. "And what is that supposed to mean?"  
  
The mage replied with an insincere smile. "Not all forms of slavery come with chains and brands."  
  
***  
  
Hawke shut another drawer with a shudder. " **Those** ," she whispered to herself, "are entirely too many green silk underthings for one man."  
  
***  
  
"Fine, then, you choose a topic."  
  
"Why do you insist that we discuss anything?"  
  
"Because that's our role in the plan, in case you've forgotten. Keep watch. Act natural." Dorian sniffed, "Although I suppose sniping at one another is a rather believable exchange, given the circumstances."  
  
Fenris smirked. "And here you thought I wasn't doing my part."  
  
***  
  
Hawke exhaled, blowing a stray lock of hair off her forehead in the process. The search wasn't going especially well. Or, perhaps more accurately, it was going well, but it was entirely boring. Carrick had the usual trappings of nobility in his room; impractically fancy garments, riding gear, personalized stationery. She thumbed idly through a book on the table by the window. Being dull seemed as good a reason not to marry someone as anything else, to her, although based on what Varric had said, that didn't seem to be what they were after here. She huffed another sigh and let the pages of the book flip back to the way they'd been, planning to make for the window when a flutter of movement caught her attention. A single stray sheet had blown free from the tome and was floating lazily toward the floor.  
  
Moments later, Hawke's grinning face appeared from the window again. She waggled the paper at Varric. "Tell me how much you love me," she called softly, before catching the sheet between her teeth and starting to climb.  
  
Varric smiled proudly. "That's my girl."  
  
***  
  
"There." Fenris gestured to the roof.  
  
Dorian squinted in the darkness, able to make out at last the Varric and Hawke-shaped figures moving toward the tower. He nodded. "Well, then. It seems as though our part of the bargain is nearly complete. I'd say it's been a pleasure working with you, but I do so loathe dishonesty."  
  
Fenris nodded, giving a small grunt of amusement.  
  
Dorian's eyes narrowed slightly. "What?"  
  
Fenris gave him a crooked smile. "I've been to an ancient Dwarven thaig, helped quell a Qunari invasion, and watched a madwoman turn into red lyrium. But an honest Tevinter mage? Now I _have_ seen everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a different format, here, but it was the only way the chapter would come out of me. I really don't know what I'm thinking. Next chapter will be longer again, I think... this was originally part of it but once again I decided to chop it off and turn it loose on its own. *hugs and biscotti for all the lovely readers* <3


	14. Chapter 14

It was late enough that the usual bustle of Skyhold's main courtyard had faded. A scattering of guards were making their rounds, and faint noises burbled out from the always-occupied tavern, but the majority of the hold had retired for the night. That meant there were few present to watch Commander Cullen stalk across the courtyard to the training dummies, and fewer still in that part of the keep who could see him heft his sword and decapitate one of the stuffed opponents with a roar and a single, mighty blow.

It was a toss up, then, who was more surprised when an alarmed squeak rang out from behind the dummy; Cullen, who'd assumed he was alone, or the squeaker.

Eyes wide, he peered past the dummy, through the silent rain of feathers, squinting into the dark alcove behind. "Maker's breath! What are you doing down there??"

"Well, I _was_ eating an apple." Hawke looked mournfully at the half-eaten piece of fruit in the dirt by her feet. She looked up to brush several stray feathers off of her face, first eying the unfortunate dummy, then the panting Commander. "Something he said?"

Cullen ran a gauntleted hand across his brow. "What? I ... no. What are you _doing_ down there?"

Hawke shifted, folding her legs underneath herself. "I just fancied a few minutes of quiet. I sort of got used to it in the big house in Kirkwall, and on the road by myself." She shrugged toward the tavern. "Not that I don't like the company. But sometimes I need a few minutes alone. Or a few minutes to be attacked by rampaging Templars. Whichever."

Cullen sighed and planted the tip of his sword in the dirt, resting both hands on the pommel. "I am **no longer** a Templar," he grumbled. "But speaking of you spending time alone, I got an interesting report earlier."

"Did you?" Hawke was rooting around in the pack at her waist. "That's good. I always expected reports would be dreadfully boring."

"Yes," Cullen continued dryly. "It seems someone matching your description was spotted on the roof of the guest wing."

"And you want me to keep an eye out for them?" She produced another apple from her pouch and took a bite of it. "I'd be happy to."

The Commander sighed, heavily, and shut his eyes. "Just tell me - would I be happier not knowing?"

Hawke considered this for a moment before nodding. "Most assuredly."

"I suspected as much." He leaned forward on the pommel, eying her again. "Is anyone going to complain? You weren't stowing revolutionary apostates up there, were you?" Her flinch was small, but noticeable, and he cringed. "I'm sorry. That was unkind."

"But not entirely unwarranted," Hawke replied with a tight smile.

"No. Just because I'm having ... difficulties, it's no reason to take them out on you. I apologize."

Hawke's smile warmed again. "I'm willing to consider it forgotten - if you'll tell me what's bothering you." She patted the dirt beside her. "You'll feel better, and I'm sure the quartermaster would appreciate it if he didn't have to replace all the targets in the morning. I might even have another apple."

Cullen considered it for a moment before, with another sigh, he eased down beside her, setting his sword and himself to lean against the wall. "I expect you can guess what the problem is," he began, scrubbing his chin with one hand.

"I expect I can," Hawke returned as she fished around in her bag and withdrew another apple to hold out to him. "But humor me."

He took the offered fruit with an arch smile. "How many apples do you have in there, anyway?"

"As many as are needed." Hawke gave a campy grin and gestured toward him. "And don't change the subject."

"This whole thing ... Evelyn's family." He frowned, "Mostly the _fiancé_ ," he said, drawing out the word with distaste.

"They were betrothed when they were children, though, weren't they? He's hardly a real romantic rival."

"He seems to think he is," Cullen grumbled, scowling. "As do her parents. But that's not even the worst of it."

"I'm hardly surprised. I sometimes wonder if there's something wrong with every eligible male noble in the Free Marches." Hawke listed them off on her fingers. "Vow of chastity. Only interested in Qunari men. Remember that one who kept calling me Mary Ann?" She made a face at the memory. "Or the one who insisted pork and bacon came from different animals. No wonder Mother ran away to marry a Fereldan."

"Psh. I wish Penavon's problems were that inoffensive."

"Inoffensive?" Hawke turned a look on him. "Mary Ann. _Mary Ann_."

Cullen rolled his eyes. "As tragic as that was, I still think we've got you beaten, here. Penavon's a despicable human being. Two-faced doesn't begin to describe it."

"Oooh. Well, that **does** sound juicy," Hawke cooed. "Do tell."

A quarter of an hour passed while Cullen relayed all of Carrick's deeds (and misdeeds) to an attentive Hawke; the only response the Champion gave while he spoke was an occasional raised eyebrow, or another crunch of her apple. When he'd finished, he shook his head. "You're right. It does feel good to get all of that out."

Hawke nodded. "Anytime," she said, chewing another bite of apple thoughtfully. "So. Do you want us to kill him?"

Cullen nearly choked, coughing and sputtering. "Hawke! Be serious."

"I am serious. Killing people and helping my friends are my two chief skills," she said, matter of factly. "And anyway, you say he kills dogs. I don't think anyone would miss him."

Cullen rubbed his forehead with a grimace. "I appreciate the offer, but I suspect people would at least notice he was gone, whether or not they'd actually miss him. ... wait, does this mean you actually believe everything I said?"

Hawke arched a thin eyebrow. "Were you lying?"

"What?? Of course not!"

She shrugged. "Didn't think so. So, yes, I believe you." Hawke offered him a lopsided grin. "You were never much of a liar, really."

Cullen returned a rueful smile of his own. "True. well, it's nice to know **someone** believes me, at any rate."

"You'd be surprised," was Hawke's cryptic reply. Without giving him time to ask for clarification, she continued, "So, what are you planning to do about it, Knight-Captain?"

"How many times, Hawke?" Cullen made a face. "That title no longer applies to me, a fact which makes me quite happy."

"You do seem happier," she agreed, nodding. "At first I thought it was just being away from Kirkwall. Then I thought it was the lyrium. But I really think you've found your place, here." She offered him a warm smile. "I'm happy for you. And a bit jealous, if I'm honest."

Cullen gave her a look of mild surprise, cheeks warming slightly. "Who told you about the lyrium?"

Hawke snorted. "Cullen, please. Da always smelled of it. Bethy always smelled of it. You always smelled of it. Who knows, maybe that's what attracted me to you in the first place." She frowned slightly as she considered that, then shook her head. "Actually, let's not examine that too closely. In any case, I noticed right away. It seems to be working out for you." She crunched the last of her apple, discarding the core. "I'm happy for that, too. I'd say you've done enough Templar-ing for a lifetime." She nudged his arm and grinned. "Not that leaving the order seems to have made your life less interesting, mind you. Always in the thick of the excitement, hmm?"

"You make it sound like that's by choice," Cullen said, rolling his eyes.

"This time was by choice," Hawke countered. "You could have left Kirkwall and become a ... nug farmer or something. Or you could have _stayed_ in Kirkwall and continued putting the pieces back together. Varric tells me things are calmer there, now. Well, as calm as they are anywhere. I suppose one crazed lyrium statue attack and one exploding Chantry use up a city's excitement quota for a good spell."

"One can only hope," Cullen returned with something between a chuckle and a sigh. "Do you ever think of going back there?"

Hawke's eyebrows lifted. "To Kirkwall?" She shrugged, "Varric mentions it from time to time. I know he's eager to go home. Well, eager-ish, anyway; he seems happy enough here for the moment. I can't imagine I'd be all that welcome there, though." Her voice grew wistful and she stared, unfocused, into the shadows. "As much as it was home, I think there are too many ghosts on those streets for me to still think of it that way. Bit of a conundrum, really. I'm not sure where home is anymore."

Cullen frowned and rested a hand on Hawke's forearm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to press at still-tender wounds. You know you're welcome to stay here."

True to form, the former Champion's expression brightened again, though Cullen knew her both well enough to recognize it as a cover, and well enough to know not to push. "I do like it here. It has convenient access to my dwarf, and the mountain air is _quite_ invigorating. But we all know what happens when I try to lay down roots." She raised her arms above her head, giving Cullen a wry grin, and intoned ominously, "Marching trees on the attack!"

The Commander chuckled again in spite of himself. "And you say **I'm** always in the thick of the excitement."

"Touché. So, what about you? I'm guessing you don't want to go back to Kirkwall; what happens when you're done here?" she asked, gesturing vaguely at the courtyard. "Back to Ferelden?"

"Mmm, I suppose I'm not sure. Evie and I have talked about it from time to time, though we haven't had much opportunity to really plan," Cullen replied, rubbing the back of his neck idly. "Demons and rifts and troop movements don't leave a lot of time for future."

Hawke tilted her head slightly. "But you're sure this future involves the Inquisitor?"

"Absolutely." Cullen squared his shoulders, nodding. "I've never been so certain of anything in my life."

"And you believe she feels the same way?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, I know she does."

"So, then," Hawke laughed, not unkindly, "why, in the name of Andraste's frilly knickers, are you out here working yourself into a lather over a little pissant like this Penavon fellow, instead of up there," she gestured to the tower that housed the Inquisitor's quarters, "working yourself into the _Herald's_ frilly knickers?"

"She doesn't want to see anyone today. I asked this morning, I asked after dinner; Josephine says she doesn't want to be disturbed." Cullen got to his feet and started to pace, agitation growing again at the very mention of the other man's name. "Josie said only her mother had been up there today, and that 'the Inquisitor had a lot to think about'. A lot to think about!" he scoffed. "Thinking hasn't stopped her seeing me before. I don't like it."

Hawke shrugged. "Perhaps she just needs some time to herself? And, unlike the rest of us, she didn't fancy sitting alone in the dirt? It is the first time she's seen her family since being blessed by the Maker, after all."

Cullen shook his head, unconvinced. "I don't begrudge her her time alone, but this is ... unusual. He's made it plain he's trying to get to her. I can't make her see ... she doesn't seem to believe that he's up to no good! I don't trust him."

"If you trust **her** ," Hawke asked dryly, "what does it matter if you trust him or not?"

"Because I need to be able to protect her!" Cullen kicked up a small cloud of dust as he walked back and forth. "I couldn't ... I wasn't able to be there when she was facing all sorts of terrors out there, I wasn't even able to be there at the end to face Corypheus. I have to be there for ... I can't lose her to something this... this ..." He rounded on Hawke, who'd worked her way to her feet and was regarding him evenly. "He's deceitful. He's unscrupulous. He seems to enjoy cruelty. What if he's up to something - even something stupid and petty - and she gets hurt?"

Hawke continued watching him steadily, gnawing on one thumbnail as she thought over what she'd read earlier, and the various probable outcomes of informing the already-excited Cullen. Finally, she smiled, stepped forward, and grabbed the Commander in a hug. "You really are adorable."

This was, apparently, not the response Cullen was anticipating. He frowned down at the top of Hawke's head. "Er, what exactly is happening right now?"

"Just accept your adorableness, Commander Worrywort," Hawke chuckled, giving him a pat on the back and a squeeze before pulling away. "And then consider that you're worrying about a pampered pretty boy injuring your Inquisitor, who I've actually seen - with my own eyes, mind you - cutting down monsters four times her size and barely breaking a sweat. If he does have something nefarious planned, I think I feel sorrier for him than I do her." She offered him a lopsided grin and added, "And if _that_ isn't enough to give him pause for thought, he'll have the big scary lion Commander to deal with, too. To be honest, I'm not sure he's really thought this through."

Cullen's expression reminaed blank while he took a few long moments to process this. Just when Hawke was starting to wonder if she'd, perhaps, broken something in him with her hug, a hopeful smile slowly spread across his face. "You really think so?"

Hawke spread her arms and gave an expansive shrug. "Wellll, I suppose I could be mistaken. I mean, it's entirely possible you two are pretending to be entirely, disgustingly in love with one another for some reason or other, and _aren't_ really destined to spend the rest of your lives together, despite any outside, interfering parties, be they random fiancés or well-intentioned family members." She leaned forward slightly and added in a conspiratorial whisper, "But I doubt it."

"I think," the Commander began with a cautious smile, "as helpful as this has been, perhaps there's someone else I should be speaking to..."

"well, I can try to find someone if you're at a loose end- oh!" Hawke fell silent and smiled as Cullen gripped her upper arms and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Good night, Serah Hawke." Cullen offered her a broad smile before turning on his heel and striding off across the courtyard.

Hawke aimed a florid bow at his departing form. "And to you, Knight-Captain."

***

The happy clamor of the busy tavern main room provided only dim background noise in the lofts of the building, not that Carrick was paying attention to the sound. He'd been waiting, hoping, to catch sight of his adversary's appearance in the bar again. It had been a happy accident that he'd turned around in time to see Cullen and Hawke outside; if the white flash of movement (a reflection from downstairs, he supposed?) hadn't grabbed his attention, he would have missed the whole, tender scene. He smiled to himself, his reflection unpleasant in the window. _That would have been a terrible shame._

The voice beside him made him jump.

"You're afraid to lose, so you make up a different game and play that one instead."

Carrick tried to regain his composure as he stared at the pale face regarding him from beneath a preposterously large hat. "I beg your pardon, serah?"

"I don't understand," the apparition continued. "Why is that chair important? There are lots of chairs here. You wouldn't have to share."

"Now, listen here-" Carrick sought to defend himself with an outstretched finger even as he took an uncertain step backward.

"Years of disappointment. They think I'm useless; unneeded second son. Shunt me off to anonymity. Now, finally, a purpose and they think to keep it from me? 'This will be mine. I deserve this.'"

The finger trembled as his other hand groped for the staircase railing. Carrick moved further away, attempting to summon anger that wouldn't quite come. "I don't know what you are, demon, but have a care how you speak to your betters."

Cole folded his arms, his large eyes luminous beneath the brim of his hat. "You tell yourself it is like hunting, but you know a lion is no easy prey for a dog."

Desperate fingers finally grasping the railing, Carrick turned and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit (again!) - just crazy busy at work right now. The good(?) news is, we're in the home stretch on this story, I think. Maybe... 4 more chapters after this? Or thereabouts. I've had time to think, if not to write, at work, so I have a reasonably good idea of what needs to happen next, just need time to type it. And I believe I know what the last sentence in the story will be (which is always exciting, at least to me.)
> 
> Up next time: Cullen and Evie work some things out. Both vertically and horizontally.
> 
> Random aside: I'd just like to make it known I don't personally have anything against the name Mary Ann. ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And I've brought smut!

Evelyn's quarters were dark when Cullen made his way up the stairs, a dim flickering glow from the fireplace the only thing lighting his climb. His momentary twinge of concern that perhaps the Inquisitor had already retired for the night was quelled when he crested the top of the stairs and found her seated on the sofa in front of the fire, coppery hair glinting in the firelight. At the sound of his boots on the stone, she turned in her seat and, to his great relief, smiled.  
  
He wasted no time crossing the room, while she rose from her seat to meet him. They spoke at the same time:  
  
"We need to talk."  
  
Evelyn blushed and smiled sheepishly. "I suppose we both have the same idea."  
  
Cullen nodded, weighing the urge to say what he'd come to say against doing the gentlemanly thing and letting Evelyn go first. After a moment, he gestured toward her with a gentle smile. "After you."  
  
Evelyn nodded in return, worrying her lower lip gently between her teeth. "Right. Right," she mumbled, eying Cullen for a moment before turning back to the fire. "I ... right." She huffed a sigh and took a few steps back toward the warmth. "I ... my mother came to speak to me today."  
  
This was not the opening he was hoping for, but Cullen nodded as he took a few steps to follow her. "I'd heard. Josephine mentioned it, I mean."  
  
"Right," Evie offered quickly, adding in an undertone, "Of course she would have." Clasping her hands behind her back, she took a deep breath and continued, "She had quite a bit to say. Which was not surprising; she usually has quite a bit to say when it comes to her children's lives. I'd expected that was coming. But I hadn't expected... Some of it was just ... well, at least some of it was ... I've had a lot to think about," she finished lamely. "She made a lot of good points about the future. About my future." She glanced over her shoulder, the shadows from the fire illuminating the seriousness of her expression. "Our future."  
  
Cullen nodded again, slowly. If Evelyn was looking for some prompt from his face, she wasn't getting it; his expression was impassive, carefully schooled. "I see."  
  
Evelyn rubbed her chin uncertainly as she turned back to the fire. "She ... she feels that, given my position, my future is going to be ... _challenging_ in ways I hadn't previously considered. It makes sense, I suppose; I mean, we both know it's true that, as long as I'm at the head of the Inquisition, my life will be full of obligations. People will expect me to host negotiations, and attend dinners and parties. The Inquisition has already done as much work in the banquet hall and the ballroom as it has on the battlefield. There's no reason to believe that's going to change; in fact, with Corephyus dealt with, we'll probably spend even _more_ of our time working with pens and silverware rather than swords." She paused to take a breath, steeling herself. "Mother isn't wrong when she says Carrick - and others like him - have grown up being trained for that sort of thing. I know that ... it's not to say that you haven't been _invaluable_ thus far in those situations, or that I don't love having you there, but I know that you ... I don't want you ..." She clawed her hands through her hair. "It's too selfish of me! I can't ask you to live like that, not knowing how much you hate-OH!"

Evelyn found herself abruptly staring at the floor, and then the back of Cullen's thighs, as he hoisted her over his shoulder in one quick motion. "What are you doing??" she gasped, too surprised to struggle.  
  
Cullen didn't respond, stalking toward the bed and, just as abruptly, flipping Evelyn over again and planting her soundly on the mattress. The blankets and feather bed pillowed up around her as Cullen followed her body with his own, straddling her legs with his and pinning her hands above her head. To her immense surprise, she founds herself looking up into amber eyes sparking with anger. "Cullen," she began again, "what _are_ you do-mmmf!"  
  
Keeping her hands caged with one of his own, Cullen smoothly swept his other palm over Evelyn's mouth. " **Evelyn Anabel Trevelyan** ," he began hotly, words clipped, "When I say I love you, I mean I love everything about you, about being with you, not just the bits that conveniently don't require me to wear some ridiculous tunic of Josephine's devising. I want it all. I _love_ you. If being with you means attending a Fereldan banquet or an Orlesian ball or a ... a _Rivani beach party_ every day for the rest of my life, I will do so, **cheerfully** , and thank the Maker each night for the opportunity. The only things I regret about our relationship are not kissing you sooner, not proposing to you sooner, not wedding you sooner, and that you aren't already carrying my child. Of all the people who have opinions about our future, be they your mother, or the rest of the Inquisition, or Carrick flaming Penavon, the only one I'm interested in is you." Cullen paused for breath, panting as he took in Evelyn's wide green eyes. "So, then," he huffed. "Do you want to marry me?"  
  
Evie nodded mutely, mouth still covered by Cullen's hand.  
  
"... are you only saying yes so I'll let you up?"  
  
He felt, rather than saw, Evie's mouth curl into a smile as she shook her head, no. This secret smile was answered by one of his own, his tone lightening, softening.  
  
"So ... you'll marry me?" he asked, domineering Commander fading rapidly and leaving a hopeful, blushing Cullen in his wake. When she nodded again, eyes glinting, his hand slipped off of her mouth. "Really?"  
  
"Oh, Cullen, of _course_ I will, you wonderful, ridiculous man!" She moved to sit up, stymied by the fact her hands were still pinned above her head. In the end, it didn't matter; Cullen was already sweeping down to give her a long, lingering kiss. Evelyn shifted restlessly beneath him as Cullen's soft lips ignited the familiar burn low in her belly. She flexed her wrists to pull them free, puzzled but intrigued to find Cullen's grip on them remained firm. When his lips drifted from hers to trail searing little kisses along her jaw, she took the opportunity to murmur, "Commander, is there some reason you're denying me the use of my hands? I believe I may need them presently."

She felt, as much as heard, a low chuckle rumble through Cullen's chest. He ended his ministrations to her jawline with a nip at one earlobe before pulling back to look down upon her again. The flames in her belly licked higher when she caught sight of the smolder turning his eyes liquid honey-brown; the playful, cocky smirk on his lips.  
  
"No," he drawled, squeezing her wrists together briefly, triumph making him bold. "No, I think it's better if I supervise them."  
  
Evie arched an eyebrow, trying her best to keep her Inquisitor cool even as the flush in her cheeks betrayed her titillation. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I was just thinking, given how fast you were to dismiss your own judgment in favor of your mother's ... you seem _very_ eager to have someone tell you what to do," Cullen mused, running his free hand along her side, smirking as she squirmed. "I think perhaps **I'd** like a turn at it."  
  
Inquisitor cool was fighting a losing battle against arousal, evident in both her expression and the husky tone of her voice when Evelyn replied. "Do you suppose you're up to it?" she purred, canting her hips up to grind against his and smirking at the faint groan that escaped him before he pressed her back into the mattress.  
  
"If you want to find out," Cullen growled, "you'll have to behave yourself." His fingers ghosted over her leg, only edging the tiniest distance between her trembling thighs before coming to a halt. Her disappointed mewl brought the smirk back to his lips. "Do you suppose _you're_ up to it?" he teased, dipping his fingers slowly, slowly downward before retracting them.  
  
Evie chased his departing fingers with her hips and nodded. "Yes. Cullen, _please_ ," she breathed as he pulled his hand away.  
  
Cullen chuckled huskily. "All right, I suppose we can let you try. As long as you promise to keep them above your head, I'm going to let go of your hands." He caught Evie's chin with his fingers, her eyes meeting his as she sucked her lower lip between her teeth. "Promise?"  
  
Evelyn nodded obediently, watching as the Commander loosed her hands and sat back across her thighs. His confident gaze never left her heated one as he purposefully removed his gloves and tossed them aside, then shrugged off the heavy mantle of his cloak. She (barely) resisted the urge to buck her hips against him as he eased his way down her legs and found herself clutching handfuls of the bed's coverlet to keep from breaking her promise already.  
  
"I like this idea," Cullen murmured, lazily stroking his now-bare hands up and down the outsides of her legs. "You do what I say to. You touch when I say to. You come when I say to." He chuckled darkly when Evie's breath hitched. They'd certainly played at such games before, but never quite so directly. "If I'd know you were so hungry to take directions, I'd have taken over sooner."  
  
Evie whimpered softly as he Cullen loosened the laces on her leggings and started working them down, leaning forward to shower her skin with kisses as more of it was revealed. He stopped short of freeing her legs entirely, however, leaving the leggings tangled around her calves and her legs effectively restrained as he turned his attention to nibbling a path along the crest of her hipbone. He drew another whimper from her as he eased her thighs apart and levered her hips up toward his kisses. When his lips finally, _finally_ arrived at her center, a contented moan rose in Evie's throat, and when Cullen let his tongue glide smoothly along her slit, her control failed her and her hands left their place buried in the blankets and tangled into his hair, accompanied by a whine and an "Oh, Cullen, yes."

Rather than trailing off to a moan, however, Evelyn's exclamation finished with a cry of surprise as Cullen's broad hand connected with the creamy skin of her exposed backside. She peered down the bed at Cullen, green eyes wide and cheeks flushed as her darkly chuckling lover looked back up at her.  
  
"Tut tut, Lady Inquisitor. Breaking your word already?" He shook his head. "Do I need to _restrain_ you?"  
  
Evie's cheeks flamed as heat surged through her at his sultry tone, her entire body seeming to flush a becoming pink. She shook her head slowly, eyes dark with desire. "I'll behave," she whispered, withdrawing her hands and securing them once again in the sheets above her head.  
  
"Are you sure?" Cullen rumbled, smirking as he dragged his fingers from the slightly stinging hand print on her rear around to coat them in her freely-flowing wetness. "You seem like the type to misbehave."  
  
Evie squirmed, closing her eyes and nodding frantically. "I promise. I promise."  
  
With a satisfied chuckle, Cullen lowered his head again. "Well. As long as you promise," he murmured before turning his attention back to parting her with his tongue. Evelyn arched off the bed again, her hands in the sheets providing an anchor to stretch against and Cullen's hands moving both to support her back and keep her pressed against him as his tongue worked, first stroking delicately along the length of her cunt, then lavishing her clit with his soldier's diligence.  
  
When her breath was coming in gasps and pants, he drew his mouth back slightly and smiled against her moist, silky flesh. "Maker's breath, you're wet as a river, aren't you?" he mused with no small amount of pride. He ran his tongue up her again, luxuriously. "Like drinking from a mountain stream."  
  
Evie, shaky and breathless, wailed as loudly as she could, hips writhing against his hands, her hands twisted in the sheets. "Cullen, please. _Oh please._ " Intensely sensitive, she felt his smirk against her inner thigh.  
  
"Well, as you've been such a good girl," he murmured, nuzzling her sex before drawing her clit so, so gently between his lips, suckling, tonguing, swirling in constant rhythm as he listened to Evie's gulping breaths and moans. When he judged her close enough, her body taut like a fiddle string, he sheathed two fingers inside her, sucking in a breath and a moan of his own at the heat he found there. Powerful fingers curling, he plucked gently at her from the inside, playing a tune who's rhythm was set by his clever tongue on her clit and who's lyrics consisted of the increasingly incoherent babbling of Evelyn herself until the song reached its inevitable crescendo. Evelyn gave a strangled cry as the raging heat that had built in her belly seared through her, head to toe. Cullen's answering hungry groan was muffled as he laved her clit with his tongue until the ripples of pleasure had passed through her and she sagged, boneless, back onto the bed.

"C... can I touch you now?" Evie panted.  
  
Cullen smirked at the tremors that ran through her as he drew back, ghosting his nose and lips along her thighs. "So rebellious," he chuckled. "And just after not touching me has proven so very effective, too."  
  
Evie's eyes slid open again, hazy with both contentment and lingering desire. "I can't help it. There are too many delicious parts of you to touch," she purred, grinding her hips against his. She watched him as he lazily wiped the evidence of her arousal on his arm, embers of passion beginning to smolder again in her eyes. "Did you mean what you said? About me carrying your child?"  
  
Cullen's cheeks, already ruddy from his exertions, colored further as his eyes roved from her face to her belly and back again. He wet his lower lip with his tongue and nodded. "I did."  
  
A surprising heat flared between Evelyn's legs again and she squirmed. "Say I can touch you."  
  
Cullen's lip curled, his eyes twinkling. "I've thought of it often," he continued, low and husky. Without breaking eye contact, he worked on easing her leggings down further, freeing her legs. "You might say it's a particular fantasy of mine."  
  
Free to make use of her legs again, Evie wasted no time wrapping them around Cullen's back in an attempt to pull him closer. "Cullen. Please."  
  
Unmoved, the Commander reached forward to work slowly at the buttons of Evie's tunic. "At first, I thought it just an idle fancy," he continued, well aware Evelyn could feel his growing hardness with her questing hips. "At some point, though, it occurred to me that the idea of filling you with my seed, repeatedly, until it takes hold, was something I truly wanted." He smirked at Evie's plaintive whimpers, easing her tunic off her shoulders and leaning in to nip at her breast band.  
  
Her body jerked, mind fighting instinct as she struggled to keep her hands in their assigned position despite Cullen's hot breath on the soft skin of her breast. "I want it, too," she said breathlessly, gasping when his tongue found one of her pebbled nipples. "Let me touch you," she begged.  
  
"I'm glad," Cullen continued, as if she hadn't asked, circling her nipple with his tongue and teasing it lightly between his teeth before sitting back again. Evelyn managed to stifle a whimper of dismay when she realized he'd moved back to begin divesting himself of his own clothing. She watched, eyelids heavy with lust, as his chiseled form revealed itself, only partially aware he was still speaking. "It would be awkward if my plans to see you swell with my child again and again didn't appeal to you," he hummed, sliding out of his tunic and disposing of it carelessly. Now bare to the waist, he ran his hands up her legs, across her hips, over her taut stomach and, finally, cupped her breasts. "Yes. I'm glad we agree."  
  
Hands still planted, Evie lunged up to kiss him when he drew close enough, pulling his lower lip between her teeth when they broke apart. "As many times as you want," she panted, seeing an answering heat in his eyes as she gazed into them. "As many times, just, for the love of Andraste, let me touch you."  
  
He let the silence hang between them for a moment before offering a lopsided grin. "All right."  
  
The words were barely out of his mouth before Evie was springing forward, pushing her tunic off with frantic motions before raking her hands through his hair, her mouth landing on his in the process. "Oh, Maker, Cullen," she breathed between kisses, "I need to feel you inside of me."

She again felt his answering growl as it rumbled through his chest, shaking hers in the process. "Maker's breath, Evie," he moaned, giving in to her onslaught and letting her waves of passion wash him onto his back.  
  
She followed, climbing first into his lap and then straddling him, their positions reversed. On a different day, she might have paused to crow over this triumph, but today, today there wasn't time for such things. She ground her hips against his again, now able to revel in the feel of his rigid hardness beneath her. Frustrated by the remaining barrier, she broke off her frenzied kisses with a growl and rocked back on her heels long to tug his breeches down far enough to reveal his hips, and more important, to allow his cock to spring free, hard and proud and glistening.  
  
Cullen gave a throaty chuckle at her enthusiasm, moving to sit up only to find himself pushed back again. "Evie, my trousers," he began, amused, only to trail off in a his of pleasure as Evelyn moved back over him and, taking his length in hand, ran the tip along the sopping wetness of her cunt.  
  
"You didn't take mine off," she said breathily, continuing to swirl his cock between her folds. "It seems only fair." And without leaving time for further protests, she sank down onto him, head drooping back, breath hitching.  
  
Cullen abruptly found himself out of protests, distracted entirely by the sudden sensation of being engulfed in her scorching wetness. He sank his fingers into her hips, if not to control, to at least partner in the rolling pace she was setting. And if he lost control entirely, well, did it matter, if it was to this goddess above him, pale breasts bouncing in the firelight.   
  
Evie planted her hands on his chest, leaning into her work and riding him in earnest and he moaned in encouragement. "I can never tell," he managed breathlessly, "if you're a desire demon, or the Blessed Andraste herself."  
  
A cat-like grin spread across Evie's face. "Why, Commander Cullen," she said, punctuating her words by deliberately clenching her muscles around his shaft, "should we be conceiving our son in an atmosphere of such blasphemy?"  
  
"Ahhh. Our son?" Cullen grunted, working one of his hands up to her breast again, tweaking and stroking her nipple. "Why not a daughter?"  
  
Evie swirled her hips, giggling throatily. "My sister once told me this is how you get a son. The woman on top."  
  
"Mmm, my lady Inquisitor," Cullen returned huskily, "I'd no idea you came from such a scandalous background." His hand drifted up to cup her cheek and she nipped playfully at his palm as their eyes met. Whatever he may have worried about, whatever her doubts about their future, everything seemed to fall into crystal focus in the look that passed between them. For what seemed a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the slick, wet noises of their joining and the crackle of the fire.  
  
At long last, he snaked his hand around to cradle her neck and his smirk returned. "I don't know. I rather fancied a daughter first." With barely a disruption to the rhythm of their mutual thrusting, he surged forward to rock Evelyn onto her back, impeded somewhat by the trousers locking his legs together but making up for it with enthusiasm.

"Oh I suppose that's ... oohh ... I suppooooh ... _sure_ ," Evie moaned, eyes rolling back as Cullen rutted her powerfully into the mattress.  
  
"The idea of you round with my child," Cullen murmured between pants, "I love you, Evelyn. I love you so much."  
  
Evie opened her eyes again, focusing on him with a sinful smirk. "I love you, too," she purred, body rocking with the snapping of his hips against hers. "I love your hands, and your back," she said , trailing her fingers up his arms and across his shoulders, "your eyes, and your smile." One hand toyed with his lips, tracing his scar before he nipped playfully at the fingers.  
  
He responded by withdrawing almost entirely, then burying himself again with a vigorous thrust - a motion he repeated again and again. "Is that all?" he growled huskily.  
  
Evie mewled as she writhed beneath him. "There might be one or two o-oth-oohh!" she moaned, lightheaded from the increasingly frantic, increasingly unsteady, pace. Her hand snaked between them, seeking to coax herself along, only to be slapped away and replaced by one of the Commander's. She keened as he added his fingers to the onslaught, seeking and circling her sensitive bundle of nerves.  
  
"That's my girl," he muttered, watching her fluttering eyelashes and nearly voiceless whimpers. "Come for me, Evelyn. _Come for me._ "  
  
This was another instruction she was eager to follow, and follow she did, crying out and sinking her teeth into Cullen's shoulder as he pumped forward erratically. Cullen's cock, already searing and hard as iron, seemed to swell further through the last few, powerful jerks and they cried out as one as he pulsed inside of Evie, filling her with hot ropes of his seed.  
  
Cullen fell forward into Evie's waiting arms, resting his head in the crook of her neck, enjoying the musky scent of her sweaty skin even as she peppered his shoulder with feeble kisses. They lay that way - still coupled and breathing heavily - until Cullen remembered himself and lifted his weight off of his lover. He planted kisses on Evie's forehead, nose, and finally mouth as he did so, "I'm sorry, love. I must be crushing you," he murmured, supporting himself on his forearms.  
  
"No. No, it's all right," Evie returned with still-closed eyes and a wry grin. "I'm fairly certain you've worked a perfectly Evelyn-shaped groove into the bed," she chuckled weakly. "I fit perfectly." She clenched her muscles to give his softening member a squeeze before it slipped out of her, giggling at his expression of delicious discomfort. "As do you."  
  
"Vixen," he chastised lazily, smirking and pulling her into his arms as he rolled to one side. "I must admit, that wasn't _quite_ the proposal I'd imagined. I can't say as I'm displeased with the result, however."  
  
Evie barked a ragged laugh and snuggled against him. "I'll say one thing - it's a good thing I accepted, or all of _that_ would have been extremely inappropriate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the long wait for this chapter. The past 3 weeks have been ridiculously busy for me. I've been promised repeatedly that "things will be better in May", so let's hope for the best. Meanwhile, hopefully your patience has been rewarded in this chapter. As always, *passes out the biscotti*.
> 
> Next time, pillow talk and sneaky plots.


	16. Chapter 16

"Are you going to go back to your room?" Evelyn broke a comfortable silence that had stretched on for some time, disturbed only by the crackling of the fire, the whisper of the mountain wind, and the occasional call of a night bird.  
  
Cullen, still cuddling her comfortably against his chest, craned his neck slightly to look down at her. "I thought this was _our_ room?"  
  
Evie frowned. "I thought so, too," she offered, sounding slightly uncertain. "But you've been sleeping up in your drafty loft quite a bit lately..."

"You needn't worry about that anymore," Cullen returned, squeezing her closer. "I'm not leaving you ever again." He sighed, the gust of air ruffling her hair as it rested on his chest, and resumed stroking her arm in an absent, soothing way. "I've been an idiot. As insecure as a schoolboy. I can't imagine what you see in me."

Evie smiled, tilting her head to plant a kiss on his chest. "You do have some redeeming qualities, to be fair," she chuckled softly. With a more serious expression, she continued, "But I should be the one apologizing to you. You should never have had any reason to doubt our relationship."

"Well, perhaps we can agree we were _both_ idiots," Cullen offered gently, smile curling into a smirk.

Evie responded with a smirk of her own. "I think idiot is a bit strong. At least, in my case."

She found herself squeezed harder and rolled onto a laughing Cullen's bobbing chest. "Minx," he chuckled, looking up at her with amusement that blossomed easily into adoration. " _My_ minx, at that. How did I ever get so lucky?"

Evie stroked his cheek and leaned in for a sweet, gentle kiss before folding her arms on his chest and resting her chin on them. "Just remember that thought when Josephine's planning us a three day gala wedding in Val Royeaux." She smiled at Cullen's grimace. "Velvet jackets and fourteen course meals as far as the eye can see."

"Hmpf. I don't care what anyone says, there is no reasonable need to have seven forks at one dinner."

 "Well, perhaps we can get her to limit the number of forks. As a wedding present," Evie giggled.

"I suppose I should arrange to speak to your parents," Cullen mused, stroking Evelyn's hair. "We've done things a bit backwards, but I imagine they'd appreciate the gesture, at the very least."

It was Evie's turn to grumble at this. "We can speak to them, together. It's about time they accepted that this is our decision, and not theirs. But let's not talk about that tonight." She stretched against him, moving her arms so she could rest her cheek on his chest. "Tonight is just for us."

"As you wish," Cullen replied, pressing a kiss onto the crown of Evie's head, appreciating the way the firelight glinted off his love's hair. "It _is_ a beautiful night. It should be reserved for pleasanter topics."

Cullen felt his love's cheek curve as she smiled. "Like all of the children we're going to have?" she asked wryly.

Evelyn could hear Cullen's heart quicken and the heat of his skin as he flushed. "Yes, uh, well," he began, "it's possible I got a bit carried away in the mo-"

"Uh uh uh Commander," Evie teased. "No taking it back now." She sighed and stretched to give him a lazy kiss before rolling back into the crook of his arm, snuggling tightly against him and gazing out at the velvety night. "So just where are we going to put all of these little Rutherfords?"

Cullen chuckled and resumed stroking Evelyn's arm. "Well, I suppose there's room enough here, at Skyhold. And we'll make sure the retreat we build in Crestwood has sufficient space as well."

Evie tilted her head. "Crestwood? I thought we'd agreed on the Storm Coast. Somewhere looking out over the waves."

Cullen harrumphed and shook his head. "It rains too much on the Storm Coast, not to mention the humidity from the sea."

"Yes, but it rains in Crestwood all the time, too, _and_ they have corpses that walk out of the lake," Evie offered with a bemused grin. "All things considered, I think I'd prefer the humidity."

"Tch. You would say that. **Your** hair is pin straight, even in a downpour."

Evie's tinkling laugh echoed out from their window into the night. "Why, Commander! I'd no idea you were so vain!" she giggled.

Cullen wrapped his arms around her, catching her wriggling frame in a tight hug. "Pah! You had _every_ idea, and what's more, you love it!" he returned, joining in her laughter as they wrestled the sheets into a tangle. When the grip of the twisted fabric finally stilled them, Cullen found himself looking down into his bride-to-be's shining eyes.

"It's a lucky thing our children will have you to teach them how to tame their unruly locks," Evie said breathlessly, reaching up to push those curls, now thoroughly tussled, off of his face.

"If there's any luck involved," Cullen snorted, "they'll get your hair." He smirked and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "And your nose," he added, planting a kiss there as well. "And your beautiful smile." His kisses trailed down to her find her mouth, murmuring his approval at the feel of her soft lips.

Evie's hands snaked through his hair to hold him close. "Well, the sooner they get here, the sooner we'll know," she purred with an inviting wriggle of her hips.

Cullen hummed his approval. "Mmm. As you wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello everyone! Remember that "It'll be better in May" thing?
> 
> It wasn't.
> 
> But I couldn't *not* write anymore, so I broke this chapter into two smaller ones. Evie and Cullen have been having this conversation in my head for WEEKS and I needed to get them outta there. ;) It's another busy week ahead, but hopefully the second half will appear sometime before the weekend.
> 
> Love and biscotti to you all. *hugs*


	17. Chapter 17

Faint sounds of passion seeped from the cracks around door as Cullen approached. That was odd. Evie'd asked to meet him here, in one of the unused rooms of the keep, after dinner and - at least to his ears - it had sounded like she meant _alone_. He wondered if perhaps he had the wrong room, but something about the breathy mewls of pleasure sounded so familiar, he found himself reaching for the door handle anyway. The heavy oaken door creaked open and light spilled into the darkened room from the hallway behind him, illuminating two figures; one, female, perched on the edge of the desk, with her leggings around her ankles, head thrown back in ecstasy, and the other, male, with his back to the door and his face buried between her thighs.

He could only stare as Evie's head lolled to the side, eyes drifting open to regard him. She smiled lazily and extended an arm, beckoning. "Cullen, darling," she drawled. "I have _wonderful_ news. I spoke to Carrick about our wedding." At the mention of his name, the figure crouched before her turned his head to eye Cullen at the door, torchlight from the hall glinting off the slickness that surrounded his placid smile. "He's fine with it," Evelyn continued. "In fact, he still wants to be a part of things. Isn't it a perfect solution?"

Cullen's mouth drooped open in disbelief when Carrick loosened his hold on one of Evie's thighs to extend his own hand toward the Commander. "I'm sorry if I've been difficult up 'til now," he offered, running his tongue along his lower lip as he took in Cullen's form slowly, head to toe and back again. "It's just, I didn't know what to make of all of this. But once Evelyn assured me I'd be welcome to stay, provided I was willing to be ..." he smirked, "of _service_ to you both? Well, how could I refuse?"

Evelyn chuckled, dark and husky, and wiggled her fingers at Cullen, who'd yet to move from the doorway. "Join us, love."

"Yes, do." Carrick wet his lips again. "I've just a bit more work to do, here," he added, before turning his attentions back to the apex of Evelyn's thighs.

Cullen stared, muzzy-headed. _This is ... this is not right_ , his brain insisted. _It can't be_. He scrubbed his traitorous eyes with his fists, hoping that, when he opened them again...

The Inquisitor's quarters were bathed in the warm glow of the fireplace in the late evening, and the light bounced between Evelyn's rosy complexion and Hawke's pale porcelain one. They made an extraordinary picture atop the Inquisitor's bed, facing one another on their knees, Evelyn nipping at Hawke's swanlike neck while Hawke's clever fingers danced across Evelyn's naked breasts. Cullen felt his cock twitch emphatically when Hawke's lyrium-blue eyes slid open to regard him. "Aren't you going to join us, Knight-Captain?"

"Call him _Commander_ ," Evelyn purred, turning her head to add her piercing green gaze to Hawke's. "He likes that."

Hawke gave a throaty laugh that trailed off in a soft moan as Evelyn captured one of Hawke's nipples in her mouth. "I'll **bet** he does. How about a game of naughty mages and disapproving templar, hmm?" She stretched one arm out toward him. "We'll even let you be the templar."

"Oh, yes!" Evelyn put in, excited. "We're _fraternizing_. That's terrible." She paused to fix Cullen with a sultry look before running her tongue languidly along the contours of Hawke's pert breasts. "We should be _punished_."

Only dimly aware of having moved, Cullen found himself standing at the edge of the bed, plush bedding pressing into his knees and four eager hands now traversing his suddenly bare torso.

"We're so very naughty," Evelyn cooed. Her hands were working the lacing of his trousers loose. "Should we tell him everything we've done?"

Hawke was nibbling her way along his jawbone, headed for his ear, and so it was he heard her purr quietly, "If you find out we've been doing blood magic, will you promise to spank us?"

Evelyn giggled, even as Cullen reached out to still her hands on his waistband. A thought nagged at him, nearly drowned out by the sound of his own racing pulse, but persistent all the same. _Hawke wouldn't joke about blood magic_. He shut his eyes, shook his head. "No. No this is not real."

A soft hand on his cheek coaxed his eyes open and he found himself looking into the soft blue eyes of Solona Amell. "Cullen, sweetheart. Are you all right?" She smiled as he pushed himself to sit up in their bed. "I think you were having a nightmare."

Cullen looked around the room dazedly. The walls of their small cottage appeared as they always did - didn't they? The dawn light flooded the room with a cheery brightness. Gauzy white curtains on the windows fluttered merrily in the breeze. He caught the scent of bacon frying in the next room. "What is ..."

Still smiling, Solona straightened up from where she'd been hovering over him. "I let you sleep in. I figured you needed it, after last night," she said, giving him a cheeky wink. "But the children are eager as ever to start the day and if I didn't wake you, I'm afraid you'd have ended up with a good many more little Rutherfords in here than you'd like to wake up to," she added with a lilting laugh. Cullen stared, trying to focus past the comforting warmth of the bed, the enticing smell from the kitchen, and the goddess-like sheen of the gentle sun on the woman in front of him. After a moment, she tilted her head to one side. "Love? Are you feeling all right?"

"Nngh..." Cullen rubbed his hands over his face, shaking his head. "I don't know. I had the strangest dream," he replied, running his hands through his hair and opening his eyes again. "It was all very-"

There. Just a flicker, but it was enough. Solona was again looking at him with concern but - just for a heartbeat - it hadn't been her at all.

Cullen set his jaw. "Enough, demon. Leave me."

Solona frowned, hurt. "Sweetheart? What are you say-"

Cullen pushed away from the bed, standing, casting about for a weapon. "I'm not interested. You'll have to find some other plaything."

The look of concern faded into something colder, more calculating. "You think it's that simple, human?" Solona - not Solona, asked, voice echoing.

Cullen barked a laugh. "No. No, I'm well aware it isn't. But tonight, I won't allow you to interfere with my happiness. I have Evelyn, the **real** Evelyn, I'm content, and I'm too certain of it to fall for any of your fantasies." He waved a hand dismissively. "Begone. There's no fun to be had for you here."

Glassy yellow eyes narrowed at him as the illusions fell away and the scene faded. The demon's voice echoed through the blackness. "You know I'll be back."

"I don't doubt it," Cullen snorted. "But not today."

The bed was moving gently as Cullen blinked his way to wakefulness. Dawn was only just breaking, judging by the dim light in the room, but he could clearly make out Evelyn's back as she sat on the edge of the bed, fastening her boots. She jumped when he reached out to stroke her back.

"I'm so sorry. Did I wake you?" Evelyn leaned down to give him a kiss. "I was trying to be quiet."

"I think I was just due to wake up." Cullen smiled, "Although if you did wake me, I'm not ungrateful."

Evie arched an eyebrow. "Oh? It didn't sound like one of your usual nightmares. I'm pretty sure I heard Hawke's name in there, somewhere."

Cullen blushed lightly at the memory. "It was still definitely a nightmare," he grumbled, shutting his eyes against the images.

"I don't know. First you come up here last night, smelling of her perfume and randy as a goat, and then you have some blush-worthy dream where you wind up moaning her name. Do I need to have a chat with the lady Champion?"

"What??" Cullen's eyes flew open again at the Inquisitor's steely tone, only to find himself looking into her laughing eyes. He swatted at her playfully. "She _hugged_ me. Hugged me, before she all but smacked me on the bottom and told me to go to my room. Your room. _Our_ room," he chuckled.

"Mmm, bottom smacking, is it? Maybe I will speak to her," Evie giggled, laughing harder at Cullen's renewed blush.

"Maker's breath, can we leave all talk of bottoms and Hawke aside?" He sat up in the bed, stretching his shoulders. "It's still quite early. Is something the matter?"

Evie shook her head. "No, I just had a fair bit of work Josie'd left me last night, and, well ..." She gestured vaguely to the desk. "I sort of got distracted."

"Mmmmm, that part I recall," Cullen offered with a low growl. He reached out to pull Evelyn into his lap; a gesture she did little to fight. "Any chance I can distract you further?"

"I'm afraid not," Evelyn giggled, although she cuddled readily enough into his grip. "I need to finish signing these things before the council meeting or Josie'll have my hide. Then, I suppose, we should talk to my parents. And I should speak with Carrick."

Cullen frowned. "I don't want you talking to him alone."

"Cullen, please," Evie sighed, rolling her eyes.

"No, no 'please'. I'll go with you."

"You're being impossible," Evie said, wriggling free enough to look Cullen in the eye. "I've been alone with Corypheus and his dragon, for pity's sake."

"Don't remind me," Cullen grimaced. "The difference is we knew Corypheus was a threat, and you treated him as such. You don't treat Carrick the same way."

Evie arched an eyebrow and fixed Cullen with a skeptical stare. "You can't be suggesting he's in the same league as Corypheus, surely?"

"Of course not," Cullen huffed, "but he's not some harmless milksop, either, nor is he the somewhat mischievous boy from your childhood." He returned Evelyn's stare levelly. "I wish you could understand what he's really like.  You need to protect yourself. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me. Please."

Evie eyed him for a moment before sighing and shaking her head lightly. "Fine. I promise to be on my guard and I'll ... I'll make sure Cassandra or Dorian come with me. All right?"

"I'd prefer it was me," Cullen returned, worrying the hem of Evelyn's tunic between his fingers.

She cupped his cheek and drew his gaze back up to meet her own. "I know you would, but I can't envision any way in which **that** exchange will end well. So please accept this as second best?"

Cullen considered it a moment longer before nodding. "All right. Just, be careful, won't you?"

Evelyn leaned in to lean her forehead against his. "The very carefulest."

 

***

 

 "Hey! Be careful, Sparkler!" Varric ducked out of the way of Dorian's staff, which swung erratically over his head as the mage gestured with it.

"Don't bonk the dwarf," Hawke agreed, keeping strategically out of arm's (or staff's) reach. "Are you going to read it to us?"

Dorian continued pacing back and forth in the small room they'd chosen for their meeting. "This is preposterous!" he ranted to the general audience. "Of all the bloody cheek!"

Hawke offered Varric a shrug. "Maybe he's not going to read it to us?"

"Whatever it says," Fenris observed dryly, "he doesn't seem to like it very much."

The trio had been watching the mage pace and rant for a good five minutes, since reading through the missive retrieved from Carrick's room. Hawke herself had realized finding a letter written in what she recognized as Tevene amongst Carrick's belongings was bad, but Dorian's performance was making her wonder if 'bad' was a good enough description. Granted, they'd never find out unless-

"Sparkler, the suspense is killing us," Varric chided. "C'mon. Share with the group."

"Just look at it!" Dorian cried, thrusting the paper at Fenris, who immediately eyed it with distaste.

"What do you expect _me_ to do with that?" the elf growled.

"Well, you could **read** it," Dorian returned, waggling the paper indignantly.

Fenris bristled. "Was teaching the slaves to read high on your list of things to do back home?" he snarled, starting to rise to his feet only to be gently pushed back down by Hawke's hand on his arm.

Dorian paused in his pacing and flailing to regard the hostile elf, perplexed. "But ... I've _seen_ you reading."

Hawke kept her grip on Fenris' arm and gave a resigned sigh. "We worked on it together," she explained, "but I don't read Tevene, so..."

The mage frowned, retracting the paper and his outstretched arm. "I didn't realize. I apologize."

" _Didn't realize_ ," Fenris spat under his breath.

Hawke squeezed his arm. "He didn't realize," she offered quietly, "because he sees you as an individual and **not** a slave."

Fenris hmpf'd and folded his arms, still eying the mage mutinously, but no longer seeming an immediate threat.

"Now, then, since that's out of the way," Varric put in smoothly, "why don't you tell us what it says, Sparkler?"

Dorian held Fenris' gaze for a beat longer, then straightened the paper and cleared his throat. "Yes. Right. It begins, ' _To His Excellency Archon Radonis. I cannot express how honored I was to receive your letter..._ '"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twice in one week? Unheard of! It seems being in writing withdrawal for a few weeks means that, when I finally DO get time to write, it's all I want to do. ;) Many thanks to everyone for sticking with me through the lean times; your comments, kudos, and general awesome support mean the world to me.
> 
> Next time, we'll have a good old fashioned Carrick Pompous Ass Fest, and the Scooby Gang moving ahead with their plans. Let the good times roll!
> 
> Love and biscotti to you all. <3


	18. Chapter 18

Cullen was having a lovely day. His breakfast had been interrupted by a scout with a report relating increased bandit activity in southern Ferelden. His desk was piled so high with papers needing his attention he was certain it was about to give way. It very nearly **had** given way after lunch, when a junior officer had attempted to balance yet another dossier atop it, sending half of the mountain of paperwork cascading to the floor. Then there had been the gift (he assumed) from Sera (he assumed) - a mug of ... _something_ , smoking and eating a hole in both the bottom of the tankard, and the chair arm she'd left it on.

The scout from breakfast had passed a confused tale to his comrades; the Commander had taken the report with a smile and remarked on the beautiful morning. The officer shared similar puzzlement with his peers; he'd braced against a dressing-down and instead been surprised by the Commander's laughter. And Sera ... well, Sera was smart enough to make herself scarce after a prank, but even she wondered when she didn't see any sign of Commander Starchy Breeches on the warpath.

None of _them_ understood, clearly, that it was just too lovely a day. The only downside, perhaps, was that Cullen found his cheeks starting to ache slightly from smiling.

"I don't recall seeing them up there," Cullen called up the ladder after Evelyn's ascending form.

"I don't recall leaving them up there," was the reply that wafted back down from his loft. Evie's grinning face appeared through a hole in the floor and she gave him a cheeky wink. "But I also don't recall taking them off anywhere else, so this seems as likely a place as any."

Cullen turned back to the paperwork replica of the Frostbacks on his desk with a sigh and a chuckle. "I'm happy to hear that. I'd be happier if this paperwork would do itself and I could come help you search."

Evie's laughter echoed down from above. "I'm not sure how effective that would be," she called, grin evident in her tone, "but I'm eager to find out."

"Well," Cullen growled playfully, tossing the report in his hand at the stack and not caring when it and several other papers drifted once again to the floor, "far be it from me to deny my lady." He wondered idly, as he went to lock the doors, if the smile on his face was permanent now. And then laughed to himself at the thought - he was no naive raw recruit who expected his future with Evelyn to be perfect. But today, today at least, nothing was going to ruin his mood.

He was locking the second door when the third flew open and proved him wrong.

"Commander Cullen. I must speak with you immediately."

The footsteps he'd been hearing from the loft above stilled as he turned to face the now-open door and the man framed by it. "I'm really rather busy this afternoon, Messere Penavon," he began, only to be cut off.

"Some personal property is missing from my quarters," Carrick huffed, tugging the hem of his coat down. "I demand it be returned."

Cullen arched an eyebrow, folding his arms and leaning against the edge of his desk. "Is it? I apologize. We aren't in the habit of harboring thieves at Skyhold. Why hasn't the guard notified me?"

"I didn't inform the _guard_ ," Carrick spat. "It's sensitive material. You are in charge of security here, are you not?"

"I am. And that's why I find it difficult to believe someone burgled your quarters without the guard noticing. What is it that you're missing, exactly?"

Carrick scowled. "Personal correspondence."

"Someone stole letters?" Cullen looked skeptical. "Regarding?"

It was Carrick's turn to cross his arms. "I don't see how that's relevant"

The Commander paused for a breath, attempting to remain professional. "Are you certain you simply didn't mislay them?"

"Of course I'm certain!" Though he had no intention of admitting it to Cullen, Carrick had spent the last several hours tearing his room apart looking for the missive he'd received from the Archon, and his nearly-completed response. The thought that the Commander - his opponent - himself had somehow absconded with them was quickly dismissed; the man seemed too 'honorable' by half to stoop to such things. Not to mention too dim to think of doing so. But that didn't change the fact that someone in this Maker forsaken place _knew_.

Cullen sighed and idly adjusted some of the papers on his desk. "I see. Do you have any suspects?"

Carrick threw his arms up. "How should I know what manner of cut-purse you have skulking around here? All I know is that my papers were present yesterday afternoon, and missing this morning."

Cullen fixed the other man with an impassive stare - his Commander face - revealing nothing of the vision of Hawke slinking across the guest wing roof that was playing out in his mind's eye. "Well, messere, that isn't much to go on, but I will of course see that the matter is thoroughly investigated." He paused slightly before adding, "I do hope these papers weren't irreplaceable."

Carrick folded his arms again, looking petulant. "Yes, I'm sure you're _very_ concerned," he snarled, turning to glare out the window.

Huffing another sigh, Cullen straightened up and rested his hands on the pommel of his sword. There was some strain to his tone when he replied, but he'd had enough practice dealing with unreasonable nobles in Kirkwall to maintain his composure. Maintaining composure, he'd found, made them go away faster. "I assure you, I will make **every** effort to see your property returned," he said evenly. "If there's nothing else, however, I really must return to my-"

Carrick turned to regard the Commander again, glare shifting into something more thoughtful. Appraising. He'd wanted to deal with this later, after he'd fully won Evelyn over. But, if there was another, more immediate threat on the horizon ... well. After a moment of this scrutiny, he faced Cullen fully again and nodded. "Actually, Commander. There is something else I need to discuss with you. Now seems as good a time as any."

Cullen smothered another sigh, fingers tightening on the sword. "Yes?"

"We don't like one another," was the unlikely opening. Cullen arched an eyebrow but didn't interrupt. This seemed to be the response Carrick was after, because he smiled. "Yes, see?" He pointed at the other man. "We don't like each other, but you don't act upon it in settings like this," he said, gesturing around the room.

Cullen shifted his weight, hands remaining in their place on the pommel. "My personal feelings for you," he ground out, "don't change the need to do my job." _However much I wish they did._ "If you've suffered a theft here at Skyhold, then it is my duty to uncover the thief."  _Even if I don't want to._

Carrick's smile grew. "Yes. Yes, it's fascinating, really. I didn't see it before, but we're going to make an excellent team."

Both eyebrows crept up toward his hairline, now, as Cullen stared at the other man. "... I don't believe I follow you, messere."

Setting his hands on his hips, Carrick began slowly strolling across the room; a leisurely, confident kind of pacing. "I know you've been enjoying my bride-to-be physically. Don't bother denying it."

Cullen bristled. "I wasn't planning to. Evie and I love one another"

"Mmm." Carrick's smile was less pleasant, but still in place. "Yes. Well. I'd hoped you'd have the decency to stop once I'd arrived, but I was sadly proven incorrect on that point. At first, I blamed your ... obvious lack of breeding," he said, with a vague gesture toward Cullen, "but now that I've had longer to observe, I realize that Evelyn herself shares the blame. The perils of raising an over-indulged child, I suppose."

Cullen heard the faintest scrape on the floor above, mind quickly searching for an explanation to feed Carrick if he noticed. Thankfully, the man was too wrapped up in his monologue to be distracted.

"In any event, I propose a gentleman's agreement. Once Evelyn and I had married, I'd planned on sending you away." He flicked another hand at Cullen, dismissively. "It's hardly necessary to have the Commander of the army posted here when there's no war on. But I've come to believe that Evelyn would be ... more difficult to manage, that way."

Another quiet sound from above was more or less drowned out by Carrick's own footsteps. From the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Evelyn's troubled face appear for a moment above the ladder. She disappeared quickly when Carrick turned to pace back in that direction. "I'm sorry. You plan on 'managing' her?" Cullen prompted, cracks forming in the careful restraint of his tone.

Carrick shrugged vaguely. "I'd hoped it would be easier than it has been thus far to assert myself as leader. Most Marcher girls are more biddable than Evelyn; especially the homelier ones like her." He held a hand up to deflect the protest he saw brewing on Cullen's flushing face. "She's attractive enough, of course. Just the freckles. The red hair." He sniffed derisively. "Her grandmother _was_ from Starkhaven, after all. In any event," he continued, "after observing her for a few days, I can see that I'll need help in accomplishing my goals." He turned to face Cullen again, all smiles. "And that's where you come in."

Cullen barked a derisive laugh. "What in the name of Andraste's rosy red behind makes you think I'd help you do anything of the sort??"

"It's a simple transaction, Commander," Carrick replied smoothly. "I have something you want. You have something I want. Such is the nature of all trade agreements, is it not?" He resumed his nonchalant pacing. "There's no reason for us to be enemies. I will allow you to remain here. I will allow you to continue bedding Evelyn when I'm not making use of her. At least until she tires of you. In return, you'll support my initiatives. Should I propose a course of action for the Inquisition that she disagrees with, you'll help change her mind. Or distract her enough that she won't interfere. I'll also expect you to keep her similarly distracted when I'm ... entertaining guests of my own." He frowned slightly and spared Cullen a direct glance. "I hope it goes without saying you'll have to keep your bastards out of her. You should probably get used to finishing on her stomach or arse or what have you. Other than that, I'm sure you can do what you like with her."

Cullen was aware of drawing his sword in a hazy kind of a way, as though he was watching himself do it from across the room. He was similarly aware of the blizzard of papers that whipped up as he pushed himself over his desk and toward the bewildered-looking Penavon. Everything in the room seemed to move in slow motion, which made the blur of motion near the ladder all the more distracting.

Evie's feet had barely touched the ground before she was rounding on Carrick, eyes sparking, face red, finger jabbing at his chest. "WHO in the VOID do you think you **are**??"

Carrick turned his wide-eyed surprise on the wrathful Inquisitor who'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "Evelyn?? Where did you-" His gaze flitted behind her to the ladder, then up to the loft, realizing his mistake. "Of course." His turned his head to face the Commander once again, fixing the other man with a exasperated moue. "You might have _told_ me."

Cullen's sword arm - in fact, his entire body - seemed to be shaking with rage, but he pointed the weapon at Penavon regardless. "Why wo-"

It was Evelyn who cut him off this time, as she closed further on Carrick. "I'm glad he didn't!" she thundered on. "Then I would have missed this ... this **charming display** of what really goes on in that bladder of gas you call a brain!"

Carrick had taken a step back in the face of Evie's onslaught, but he looked, at best, mildly annoyed by her tirade. "Evelyn, please. The Commander and I are attempting to come to an agreement regarding our upcoming marriage. Don't interfere."

" **We** don't have an upcoming marriage, you ... you ridiculous nug humper!"

Carrick snorted. "I think you'll find we do, dearest. The paperwork is safely registered with the Chantry. You forget yourself."

Cullen took a half step back from the pair this time, as Evelyn's eyes first widened in fury and then narrowed in contempt. "I think it's **you** who forget yourself, Messere Penavon," she growled. "You won't be managing me, nor trying to barter me like a sack of flour! Nor, I'm sorry to disappoint you, will any of your thrice-damned 'initiatives' be enacted by the Inquisition. I am the Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste. I can have a decree from Empress Celene here in two days' time declaring it an offense against the Empire for me to wed anyone other than Cullen. I can see that a writ is issued by the Divine calling it a crime in the eyes of the Maker!" She folded her arms across her chest, white knuckles grasping her elbows. "And I can have you thrown in a pit so deep not even the darkness will be able to reach you."

Carrick rolled his eyes, calmly inspecting his fingernails as he replied. "Yes, yes, that's all very impressive. I'm sure you could. But you won't."

"And why, pray tell, is that?" Cullen bit out, finally recovering his voice. He'd yet to lower his sword; somewhere in the back of his mind, he fervently hoped the other man would give him a reason to use it.

"Oh, honestly." Carrick adjusted his sleeves and re-folded his arms, looking back and forth between them with an air of polite condescension. "Evelyn's family made a perfectly legal arrangement with mine, many years ago. Everything with regard to that arrangement is still very much legal, and very much endorsed by the Chantry, regardless of the recent change in who's behind is filling the Sunburst Throne. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that the Trevelyan's have enjoyed the Chantry's favor for many years, and that, in return, they've enjoyed the admiration of many of the noble families of the Free Marches. They even have some power to exert beyond that; something they'd never have aspired to had they not been viewed so kindly by the Grand Cathedral and those who respect it." He leveled his gaze at Evelyn. "What do you suppose would happen to that exalted status - or the family's good name - if it became known they'd reneged on an agreement for no reason other than the whim of their youngest child? Do they suddenly think themselves _above_ dealing with the Marches when their daughter's become a de facto Queen in the south? What do you suppose it would do to the Inquisition's reputation, if it spread throughout some of the ... less supportive parts of Thedas that you make deals and then break them at the drop of a hat?"

"That's ridiculous," Cullen scoffed. "Ending a betrothal arranged decades prior could hardly influence anyone's opinion of the Trevelyan family, let alone the Inquisition." He looked to Evelyn, expecting her to offer heated agreement. The shadow of uncertainty he saw on her features gave him pause. The triumphant smirk he saw growing on Penavon's face made both his fingers on his sword, and his stomach, clench. "Evie?"

Carrick's voice evoked the image of a cat sat before a bowl of cream. "I'll give you some time to discuss, shall I?" he simpered, offering a low bow to them both before turning toward the door. Over his shoulder, he offered a smug grin to Cullen. "Remember what I said about the bastards, though, won't you?"

The door had barely closed behind him before one of Evie's daggers planted itself in the wood with a thunk. "That ... that ... AUGH!" she shrieked, clawing her hands through her hair.

Finally lowering his sword, Cullen closed the distance between himself and Evelyn in a step. "Shhh. It's going to be all right," he soothed, catching her hands with his own and cupping her face. He met her distraught stare with steely eyes. "His nonsense is just that; nonsense. Everyone will see that. I am sorry you had to find out that way but ... I can't deny I'm glad you see it now, too."

Evie shook her head within Cullen's grasp. "No. No, that's just it. It's **not** nonsense. Not to the people he's talking about."

Cullen's hands dropped to his sides. " ... what?"

Evie took up pacing the room, looking nowhere near as relaxed as Penavon had minutes before. "He's right. The contracts, the arrangements. All of that rubbish is taken extremely seriously by people like my parents. By people like those who support my parents. The circles they move in; it's all very important. The breach of etiquette if he won't step aside willingly-"

"We could **make** him step aside willingly," Cullen rumbled. "You were just speaking of a bottomless pit..."

Evie shook her head, still pacing. "As much as I'd enjoy that, people would still talk. Enemies of the Inquisition just up and disappearing? That's not the reputation we've built. And if I just denounce him without any reason-"

"Other than that he's an odious swine?"

She nodded, gesturing in acquiescence. "Other than that, it will damage Mother and Papa's reputation, and if he makes a big enough stink about it - which he will - their alliances and standing in the Marches. I can't do that to them..."

"Well, why not?" Cullen snapped, raising his arms.

Evie looked up, surprised. "What?"

"Why worry about their standing when they're not worrying about what you want at all? They've put themselves - and you - in this ridiculous situation. Why shouldn't they have to find their own way out of it?"

"I know you don't really mean that," Evie said reproachfully. "As ridiculous as the situation is, Mother and Papa aren't to blame for Free Marches politicking. I can't cast them down to save myself."

Cullen sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I know ... I know. There must be some precedent for breaking betrothals that won't reflect badly upon them, though, surely?"

Evie scratched her nose, wandering back toward Cullen to rest her head on his breastplate. "I'm sure there is. I can't think of one that isn't equally ridiculous, though."

Cullen wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back with one gloved hand. "How ridiculous are we talking?" he asked, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Well ... I remember one girl ending up betrothed to her previous fiancé's brother when the pair didn't get along..."

"We'll skip that one, shall we?" Cullen grumbled, looking down at her with a frown.

"Let's," she sighed in agreement. "I've heard of a number of duels."

Cullen straightened and leaned away so he could look Evelyn in the face. "Well, that's certainly doable."

Evie's forehead crinkled. "What? No it isn't."

"Why not? Don't you think I could beat him?"

Evie rolled her eyes. "He's a prissy twit, and you're Commander of the Inquisition armies, as well as a former Templar and one of the best combatants I've ever seen. In a fair fight, I'm sure you'd destroy him."

" ... I'm not sure I see why that disqualifies a duel as an option."

"I'm sure he knows it, too," Evie continued, arching an eyebrow at Cullen skeptically, "that he'd have no chance against you in a fair fight. That's not much incentive for him to fight fair, is it?"

Cullen frowned. "I still think I could beat him," he grumbled.

Evie rested her head on his chest again with a sigh. "I'm not risking losing you to that imbecile wielding a poisoned dagger or exploding trousers or something equally ludicrous. The best way I can think of at the moment is to discredit him. If we can prove openly that he's violated the terms of the agreement-"

"By something other than being an odious swine?"

"Yes, it'd have to be more than that," Evie agreed with a nod. "If he's violated the terms by something other than being an odious swine, then we at least have a chance to cancel the betrothal without repercussions for Mother and Papa."

They held each other in silence for a long moment, Cullen stroking Evie's back gently while the vision of Hawke on the roof flitted through his mind again, Evie snuggling against her Commander and trying not to picture him falling in some ill-conceived duel, or her parents losing their holdings due to her selfishness.

"We'll think of something," she murmured finally.

"We always do," Cullen agreed softly. "Only ..."

"What?"

"Exploding trousers?"

"... shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one still doesn't flow the way I wanted, but I can't tinker with it anymore. I think Carrick's made his point, anyway (that point being that he is, indeed, a nug humper, but one with a plan). I hope it is at least serviceable, 'cause I'm ready to move onto the Scooby gang.
> 
> I have the best mental image of Cullen bursting into the tavern and Hawke, Varric, Fenris, and Dorian all looking up and simultaneously shouting "NOTHING!" before he asks what they're up to.
> 
> Love and biscotti to you all. <3


	19. Chapter 19

Varric Tethras had seen a lot of weird shit in his time.

Not that he'd complain about that, mind you. As much as he enjoyed weaving stories solely from the threads of his imagination, he had to admit having real life experience with weird shit was a valuable asset when it came to envisioning new predicaments in which to thrust his hapless heroes. Sure, he reflected as his quill scratched across parchment, there were _some_ things he might edit out of his own story, given the chance.

Most anything involving red lyrium came to mind.

Or Darkspawn. Part of the deal of being a surface dwarf was supposed to be _not_ having to deal with Darkspawn, after all. Particularly ones who'd breached the Golden City.

But, then again, if you pull individual threads out of a weaving, the whole thing starts to unravel. And, if he was being honest, the lumpy, imperfect, and frequently blood-soaked parts of his personal narrative were probably the most noteworthy. They were the parts that tangled wounds that never quite healed with smirking rogues and diligent warriors. If he were ever to meet his younger self - and, he reflected with a slight shudder, such an event didn't seem _half_ as unlikely as it used to - he knew he'd be sure to explain all the difficulties and horrors that awaited, and how **not** to avoid them. _(Except maybe the Deep Roads? No; then there'd be no Hawke. Just not the idol, no crazy Meredith, no mage war... no Conclave? But does that mean no Inquisitor? Sigh.)_ All things considered - all hurts suffered, all scars inflicted - he wouldn't be where he was, or who he was, without the weight of his experiences behind him. He was wise enough to realize that.

_Shit_ , he mused as he flipped to the next page of the contract. _When did I get old enough to be wise?_

It was this tapestry of his experiences wrapped securely around him that meant he didn't even flinch when the door to his room flew open and Cullen, fully armored and looking to be on a mission, strode in.

A brusque "Where's Hawke?" was his greeting.

Varric didn't look up from his work. "Curly. Nice to see you, too."

Cullen sighed. "Varric. It's important."

"Did you try the center of the nearest ruckus? That's where I usually start, when I'm looking for her," Varric offered. He signed the bottom of the paper before him with a flourish and stacked it atop a pile of similar sheets to one side of his desk, even as he began on the one beneath it. The stack of correspondence was frustratingly reluctant to thin today, he noted with a sigh.

" **Varric**."

The Commander's tone was obstinate enough all on its own that Varric didn't need to look up to see the firm set of his jaw or narrow line of his lips to realize Cullen wasn't leaving without an answer. But he did, anyway, sparing the other man a glance over the tops of his crescent-shaped glasses. "Contrary to popular belief, Curly, I don't know where she is at every moment of the day," he replied, gaze flicking down to his desk again in search of the next clause that needed his initial. He could have sworn he saw the candle flame on his desk stutter as the wave of disapproval washed over him. Varric made a point of finishing the sheet he was working on before he finally set down his quill and directed his full attention to the wall of critical Commander blocking his doorway. "Is there something else I can help you with?"

Cullen eyed him from above folded arms with a mixture of annoyance and exasperation. "Varric. Do you honestly believe anyone will ever believe you again when you say _you don't know where she is_?"

Varric huffed a theatrical sigh and removed his glasses to allow himself better access while rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I didn't say I didn't know where in **Thedas** she was," he grumbled, fixing his gaze on Cullen again when he'd massaged sufficient tension from his eyes. "But I've been working on merchant guild business all afternoon and, as such, I don't know the particulars of her location in **Skyhold** at the present time." He let his gaze hop around to take in the tension in Cullen's stance, the furrow in his forehead, before continuing. "What do you need her for?"

The Commander didn't soften, arms crossed, expression closed off. "She's up to something. I want to ... I _need_ to know what it is."

"Shit, Curly," Varric chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. "She's always up to something." He rested one ankle across the opposite knee and spread his arms, easy and inviting. "Why the sudden concern?"

Cullen held his imposing statue position for a moment longer before he huffed a deep sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why the fact she's _always_ up to something is supposed to be comforting," he said with a grimace, "but in this case, she's made off with something of Penavon's, and I mean to know what it was."

Varric's frown was slight and short-lived. "Quite an accusation," he returned, stroking at his chin in a thoughtful sort of way. "What makes you think that?"

Cullen rolled his eyes, pushing his hands back through his hair before directing his gaze back to the dwarf. "Because, as you say, she's usually at the center of the nearest ruckus," he grunted, "and Penavon just vacated my office after such a ruckus."

"You don't say," Varric mused. "He didn't seem like the ruckus type, to me. Kind of prim and proper and-"

"And vile," Cullen put in, cutting him off. "And, thankfully," he continued more vigorously, "Evie was there to **hear** it this time, so she knows what a cretin he is."

Varric gave a low whistle, fuzzy eyebrows creeping upward. "You don't say," he repeated slowly, gaze drifting back toward the documents on his desk. And then added, in an undertone, "Well, shit."

Cullen's eyes narrowed at the dwarf's reaction. "I do say. He seemed to be in quite a state over whatever it was he was missing. And the fact he blundered into ... into _being himself_ ," Cullen spat with distaste, "without checking to see the coast was clear makes me wonder - what is it, exactly, that Hawke nicked from his quarters?"

After a moment of pointed silence, Varric realized the Commander's searing gaze was boring into him. He looked up, features registering surprise that very nearly didn't seem rehearsed. "What? You don't think _I_ had something to do with..." The dwarf trailed off as he took in Cullen's expression. With a sigh, he nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "All right. All right. There's a storeroom along the ramparts between the tower and the tavern. I'll round up the troops. Meet us there in half an hour." When Cullen continued eying him with a mulish gaze, he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, eyes again wide and innocent. "Dwarf's honor, Curly. Half an hour."

Cullen exhaled harshly and nodded. "Fine. But -" He pointed an arresting finger at the other man, letting that finish the sentence for him before he turned and strode out of the room, heavy door banging shut behind him.

Varric blew a heavy breath through his lips and sat back in his chair again. "Well," he said, tone lightly conversational to the room, "I guess that nug's out of the bag."

"I don't suppose we imagined it'd stay in the bag very long," came the reply from the vicinity of the floor on the far side of the bed. Hawke pushed herself into view, inchworm-style, letting the book she'd been reading rest on her chest. In no apparent hurry to stand, she remained on her back, turning her head to regard Varric in his chair. "Out of curiosity, why didn't you just tell him I was here?"

"I figured we ought to get our story straight before debriefing him. Sparkler and Broody should be there, too, especially since we can't even read the damn letters." Varric shrugged as he got to his feet. "That, and a fella's got a reputation to protect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is quite short. Mea culpa. D:
> 
> The combination of long work hours and writer's block - or, perhaps more accurately, my inability to herd characters into doing what I think they're supposed to be doing - are taking a toll on me. So I'm taking the 'chip away at the marble until the statue reveals itself' approach to carry on at the moment. Hopefully a little something is better than a lot of nothing. ^^; In any case, if I don't try to take on such big chunks for a while, I feel like the frequency of my posting can go up again. And I'd like that.
> 
> As always, love and biscotti to you all. Your comments, kudos, and hits mean the world to me.


	20. Chapter 20

A lone candle flame was the only source of light in the small storeroom, and it had been the subject of Cullen's intense focus for some long moments now. His fists rested on the table in front of him, slowly clenching, relaxing, and clenching once more. A vein in his temple danced in time with the curling fingers.

The room had lapsed into silence after Dorian finished reading the letter, and now air was thick with the tension of people waiting for ... _something_. Fenris, half in shadow, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. Hawke, perched on the edge of the table, absently nibbling one thumbnail. Varric, hunched forward in the chair opposite Cullen, making a show of examining his gloves. Dorian, still holding the letter and reviewing it again with some distaste, as though the words might change the longer he looked at them. They were all carefully watching-but-not-looking-at Cullen in the silence.

Waiting.

When it came, the response felt like a crashing wave; rising slowly and then thundering through the room.

"I absolutely cannot _believe_ ... of all the ... that **thrice-damned son OF A WHORE**!" The sound of cracking wood punctuated the exclamation as Cullen's fists thudded against the table.

Hawke hopped off the rickety table as it threatened to give way. "To be fair, I'm sure his mother is a lovely- eep!"

Varric saved the candle as the table shuddered again, this time against the weight of Cullen pushing it aside as he sprang to his feet. He pointed a tense finger at Dorian. "Are you _certain_ that's what it says?"

The quip declaring that he'd actually been a precocious reader as a child died on Dorian's lips when faced with the enraged warrior staring him down. As fond as he was of his quips, nodding seemed much wiser under the circumstances. "I'm afraid so."

"Andraste's blighted arsehole, of all the bloody cheek!" Cullen raged, carding his fingers through his hair. "I mean, does he _honestly_ think he can get away with this??"

"He does seem to have a fairly high opinion of his own abilities, where plots are concerned," Hawke ventured, having retreated to stand with Fenris, safe on the sidelines. "It doesn't seem entirely deserved, mind you."

"Deserved? If it were me, I'd be embarrassed," Dorian put in, shrugging offhandedly when four pairs of eyes turned back to him. "Well, _really_." He looked back to the page in his hand with scorn. "The husband, selling out his Maker-touched bride to Tevinter? It's a little on the nose, isn't it? If he's going to get involved with plots, he could at least make them original."

Cullen glared at the mage through a room full of smothered titters. "I'm so very glad this is amusing to you."

Dorian held his palms up, the picture of innocence. "No offense intended, Commander. Besides, at least we know what he's up to, now. We can do something about it."

"You're damned right, I'm going to do something about it," Cullen growled, stalking forward to grab the parchment from Dorian's hand. "I'm going to take this letter, light it on fire, and cram it directly up his-"

"Er ... as ... evocative as that image is, Curly," Varric began, still balancing the candle on the arm of his chair, "there may be a slight problem with rushing out and, y'know. Cramming anything." He flinched as Cullen wheeled on him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, it's just that we don't really have any proof it's his," Varric offered sheepishly, rubbing his cheek with one hand.

Cullen stared. "What. Are you. Talking about?" he repeated, tone low and dangerous.

Varric blanched under the piercing gaze and looked for back up, which appeared in the form of Hawke stepping cautiously forward again.

"Well," she began evenly, in a tone generally reserved for statements like 'Why don't we put the mace down and talk about it?' and 'Nice bear, _gooooood_ bear', "we did steal it from his room. We can't exactly storm in there and find it, now. And we don't have any way of proving that's where it came from..."

"But it's written in his hand!" Cullen spluttered, parchment crinkling as he waved it at her.

"Could have been forged," Dorian put in. "There's no seal on it. It'll be his word against ours." He glanced at Hawke, arms folded. "That's really the kind of thing you should have considered before taking it out of his room."

"Don't try to pin this on me!" Hawke bristled, gesturing toward dwarf and mage. "It was the two of you who recruited me to do it in the first place!"

"Now now." Varric raised his hands to appeal for calm. "Fighting amongst ourselves won't solve anything. We're all on the same side here, remember? The 'Keep Pretty Boy from Selling Inquisition Favors to Tevinter' side? What's say we focus on that?"

"Perhaps we could trick him into admitting the letter is his?" Fenris ventured from his spot along the wall. "You said he was desperate to recover it; a desperation that has already made him sloppy."

"I doubt that would work," Cullen grumbled. He folded his arms across his chest. "Penavon was sloppy when it came to his delightful personality, not with regard to the contents of the letter."

"As much as I hate to appear mercenary, have we considered just ... doing away with him?" Dorian waggled his fingers delicately. "Accidents do happen, after all."

Hawke brightened again, momentary irritation apparently forgotten in the face of a kindred spirit. "Ooh! I suggested that before!"

"And I said _no_ ," Cullen cut across her. "He's enough of a problem alive; I don't want to add having to explain what happened to him to his relations to my list of things to do." He sighed, looking at the parchment in his hand again in frustration. He'd learned a lot over his time with the Inquisition about the intricate style of foolishness the nobility engaged in - more than he'd ever hoped or wanted to, to tell the truth - and the fact that he still felt outmatched here rankled. It was ridiculous to think that here, in his hand, was proof of a heinous man's heinous deeds, and he still lacked the power to do anything about them. And, more than that, he was again stymied when it came to actually helping then Inquisitor shoulder some of her burden.

He clamped down on memories of Lady Trevelyan's words suggesting Evelyn would be better off with a more political savvy mate and cleared his throat. "Perhaps it would be best if we just told Evelyn," he offered grudgingly. "She's likely the person at Skyhold most versed in these kinds of things." _Unfortunately_.

"Ah!" Varric snapped his fingers; the gloom in the storeroom almost seeming to lighten a bit in the face of a dwarf with a bright idea. "Curly, you've got it."

Cullen frowned at the broad smile that had spread across Varric's face. "... I do? I mean, of course, yes. It's just that I'd hoped to spare Evelyn having to deal with this directly..."

"What? Oh. No, not Glowworm," Varric said, waving Cullen off vaguely. "She has enough to deal with, what with her whole family here on top of her usual inquisit-ing, not to mention it'd _probably_ be for the best if we didn't implicate her in obvious theft from the rooms of visiting nobles. Even the particularly repugnant ones. I meant you're right that we need to add a specialist to our team. And I know just the person."

 

The group had added a second candle and righted the table to make it easier for Josephine to peruse the incriminating letter. She had been somewhat skeptical when Varric had come to retrieve her, citing 'important ruffly business', and more skeptical still when he'd led her to one of Skyhold's few remaining crumbly towers and up to a cluttered storeroom that turned out to be filled with broken furniture and four people with worryingly sheepish expressions. Her suspicions had been confirmed when they'd presented her with a letter written in flowing Tevene script and some half-mumbled explanation that she should 'just read it and then we can explain'.

She'd spent five minutes 'just reading' it.

Then a few minutes asking questions.

This is from Messere Penavon's room? _Yes._

Does he know you have it? _No, of course not._

Does he know **someone** has it? _Quite likely._

Does he think it's you? _Well ..._

She'd spent the few minutes after that nurturing a the first threads of a headache behind her left eye while Varric and the others tried their best to look innocent (or at least like they weren't the ringleader). At long last, she set the letter down on the table, smoothing it over carefully, deliberately. "Well," she began primly, "at least we know. Albeit under less than ideal circumstances."

" _Are_ there ideal circumstances for finding out your husband-to-be is plotting to sell you out to the Evil Empire?" Hawke asked conversationally.

"I suppose finding out once you've already got him up the gallows steps would be most practical," Fenris rumbled, returning Hawke's broad grin with a modest smile of his own.

"Yes, well, failing that," Josephine continued, "obviously we can't allow the Inquisitor to go ahead with this marriage."

"Of course not," Cullen said sharply. "Not that we ever were."

"Yes..." Josephine sounded somewhat less certain on this point, though her tone was as level as ever. "Well, as it happens, I've reviewed the Inquisitor's marriage contract. It's just as well you've brought this to me. Despite the circumstances by which it was obtained."

Dorian frowned slightly. "Wait. How is it you came to have Evie's marriage contract, when the gruesome groom himself only arrived here a few days ago?"

Josephine blinked and fixed the mage with a slightly perplexed look. "When we were first investigating the Inquisitor's background I requested copies of all her relevant papers; the contract was included with those."

Cullen stared. "You mean to say you **knew** she was betrothed to someone else all this time? And it never crossed your mind to say anything about it??"

"It was no surprise to me," Josephine said, sounding slightly defensive as she squared her shoulders. "It would have been much more surprising for a young woman of Lady Trevelyan's status not to have had such a contract. As for not saying anything about it, I assumed if she felt it was important to disclose, she would have done so."

Varric cast Cullen a sympathetic look as the Commander flushed at this statement. "I'm sure she just figured it didn't matter, Curly. We all know who's she's gonna marry."

"Speaking of which," Dorian said, gesturing to the letter on the table, "as we've established, concretely, that Lord Penavon isn't a suitable match for our Evie, what do we do about it? We already know the Commander's vote involved, er, shall we say canceling the contract in a rather _physical_ way, and our lady Champion has volunteered to cancel the man himself. Josephine? What does your expertise indicate should be our next action? "

" _Mannaggia a me,_ " Josie muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose gently. "Well, we definitely shouldn't ... _do away_ with him. Not only would that not necessarily nullify the marriage contract - we might end up with some other Penavon here to marry her instead - it would raise any number of uncomfortable questions regarding the Inquisitor. It would be reckless at the very least to risk the goodwill and trust we've built up throughout southern Thedas over something so ..." she gestured vaguely, "so relatively trivial." Seeing Cullen start to bristle again, she raised a hand and continued quickly, "That said, the best course of action would be to not only nullify the contract, but to neutralize the man, as well. **Without** killing him," she added, glancing between Hawke, Varric, and Dorian.

"That doesn't sound so terrible. Not as fast, of course, but..." Hawke offered with a shrug. "Do we know how to do that?"

"Wellllll," Josie began, idly straightening the parchment on the table again, "generally speaking, the most widely accepted ways to cancel a contract are for either set of parents to back out; either by refusing to pay, or to accept, the dowry-"

"Which his parents would be fools to do, and hers just seem ... disinclined to agree to," Cullen muttered.

"Or," Josie continued, "to present a rival suitor who proves he is more worthy. Generally settled through combat."

Dorian laughed, delighted. "You mean a duel?"

Josephine nodded reluctantly. "Generally. I wouldn't normally recommend it in the case of someone who's already proven to be, shall we say, less than scrupulous, but given this," she said, tapping the letter, "I think if the Commander were to defeat him openly for all to see, we'd be able to leverage his little secret to keep him from retaliating. The nobles of Thedas would be satisfied that Commander Cullen had defeated him honorably, and Messere Penavon will be able to honorably withdraw from the agreement." She folded her hands neatly in front of her, gazing around at the group before resting on Cullen. "After we threaten him."

Cullen frowned. "Evelyn won't approve."

"Nonsense!" Dorian chuckled. "We'll have the two of you fight bare-chested. It'll be the talk of Ferelden."

The frown deepened. "Thank you for that. But I'm serious. I mentioned to her before the possibility of a duel. She was staunchly against the idea. She was concerned he'd fight dirty."

Varric and Hawke laughed in unison (surprising no one, considering how much they practiced). Varric recovered first. "Well, of course he'll fight dirty, Curly."

"That's why you have us. To make sure you cheat better," Hawke added, grinning.

Dorian clapped his hands together, thoroughly enjoying himself now. "Well, then. Let's get started!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took longer than I'd hoped. My muse thoroughly abandoned me for a bit, there. Fortunately it seems to have recuperated in the past day or two. Fingers crossed that holds! In an attempt to coax it out of hiding, I've started posting the little banter drabbles I've been playing around with; if you're interested in them, they're over [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4416836/chapters/10033688)
> 
> We're very much in the home stretch now. Shouldn't be too much longer before we get some butt kicking, for goodness! Until then, love and biscotti to you all. <3


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